#I returned to Runts this year and did a whole bunch of work on it

[goat-slice-art]

Some art made for Reign of Runts' Skill Tree Updates this year, my mod for Don't Starve Together

[goatpaste]

evil mane six you say... im listening👀

e! yeah this is like from a nearly 6+ year old AU of mine from when i originally into mlp and stuff 

lil cringe but i really wantd to update it because i liked some design/story concept from it

some of the basic world building for this AU was that the Crystal Empire never disappeared and went on to basically be the cantorlot of this universe, and ponies relied on a crystal based technology system and magic became less of a focus as crystal magic was something everyone could use.

Sombra is a good king of the empire, with a large happy family. Dear friends to the wizards of cantorlot, Celestia and Luna. Sombra also made of the elements of harmony in my AU but this is about these bad bitches

twilight in my AU was a unicorn who looked up to the wizards of Cantorlot and wished to train under their wings. she learned many powerful spells from them and the books of great unicorns.

however Twilight became obsessed after learning of the elements of harmony, an ancient relic that had gone into slumber years ago claiming it wouldnt return until it was needed. however twilight thought herself to be smarter and able to force it out of hiding so that Equestria could have a boost in magic believing it would further society to have another source of power.

Twilight had no idea what she was working with and began to work behind the backs of celestia and luna. Tuning into Lord Tireks ability to absorb magic she used it for herself to drawn out the magic of the elements. However she was rejected and the spell turned on her, turning her to a monstery figure would mind could only think of taking the elements powers.

Shining armor was there with her when it happened trying to stop her, but instead became apart of the magical rejection. Only his body was effected and he was forced to stand by and watch his sisters mind become corrupted. Now she is locked in tarturus with Shinning armor as the doors gaurds, hoping they can find a way to heal her. 

Rarity is much like her normal self, the only difference is she much more work focused and lives in the crystal empire. She was so goal oriented that she had no friends and simply went day to day working herself to the bone trying to make each dress better than the last. 

it drove her made when she began to believe her style was becoming repetitive and she simple would do anything to get out of her runt. so she left the empire and went out into the snow around the kingdom seeking out an old mine full of unique and beautiful stones. 

Little would she know she would come across a locked away evil that would take over her mind, feeding on her greed and want to be the best. she would act much as normal Sombra, taking over the crystal empire and demanding the most beautiful stones and jewelry and gowns of the people. it would be this event that would set the new elements into motion, king sombra and friends stopping rarity. (id like to thing her villian name could be oddity...)

when i originally designed these villian designs pinkie was defiantly meant to take over nightmare moons place. 

Pinkie pie’s family lives in the crystal empire, as crystal farmers. Pinkie pie herself would work at the castle as a party planner from planning the birthdays of sombras children, to grand galas to diplomatic brunches. She is close friends with Princess Ivory.

However when rarity took over Pinkie pie was held captive as a jester for rarity. some believe the close contact with a creature radiating darkness infected pinkie pie. because there was hardly any build up, just one day Pinkie pie seemed to snap. right in the middle of a party she went berserk and began to destroy everything. The royal court chose to let her off assuming she was sick or had a sugar crash, the list of what it could be was endless. Pinkie pie word return again to throw Princess Ivory’s party and nearly kill her. Pinkie pie would have no memory of what she did only to come concious and learn she was banished from the court and to ever see Ivory again. it broke Pinkie’s heart and it was a moment of weakness. her mind was clouded and she turned into a monster of a mare named ‘The Timeless Party’ and planned to party the whole planet to its core until it could party no more.

with the new found elements of harmony powers pinkie pie was saved, she hasnt returned to the castle but still gets note from Ivory despite refusing to see her out of fear of hurting her. 

Rainbow dash was a clouddale pony, she never left the city and happily worked at the weather factory and thinking of the day she would be a wonderbolt. Until the day she lost her wings, she could no longer fly like other pegasus and began to adjust to her new life. she moved to the ground and became a park ranger. she lived a happy simple life coming to enjoy the new experiences that came her way that she never thought she would thought she would enjoy.

Until a stroke of misfortune hit her, literally hit her. A bolt of lightning hit her and she swore she died, Until she  awoke and found she wasn't. instead she was covered in dark rolling clouds that she could manipulate and shape to her will. 

Rainbow dash found she could fly again and faster than ever before and with no fear of lightning or hail. the weather knelled to her. little did she know with the use of her power she brought on violent storms, floods and lightning made forest fires. Rainbow dash chose to stop her new powers until she could get them under control, but found this itch like a voice in the dark parts of her mind. telling her to let go and enjoy her powers, they were a gift after all.

it wasnt long until rainbow dash changed and seemed to no longer care about her damages. with this came the ancient unicorn, Starswirl the bearded. An old unicorn of old equestria would had frozen his aging to ensure his students could full take over for him one day. however star swirl was full of himself and could never see the bigger picture. He would freeze rainbow dash in ice and leave her in the cold mountains. 

with the story reaching tarturus shining could over hear twilight talking about starswirl and asking shining armor if he really thought rainbow dash was the villian and if starswirl choices were truly for the best. 

Fluttershy lives in ponyville outskirts but ponyville in this world is mostly underwater and a tourist town for the large spa/hotspring resort run by and supported by a colony of seaponies and sirens. 

Fluttershy barely patreons there except to quietly get a spa once a month. and leaves without a world.

she still works with animals but mostly runs a pet cemetery for animals that drowned in the local waters or potentially eaten by rouge sea creatures. Fluttershy sadly would die in her own cemetery having fallen and hit her head on a tombstone. 

however after not being found she would be reclaimed and returned to the living by the earth. believing she was given a second chance and was not one with the earth Fluttershy didn’t notice that it was darkness that brought her back.  Fluttershy didn’t question her need to send the world back to a state when animals thrived and ponies were scares.

(a villian name i had for her was Queen Pangea)

With the mostly underwater Ponyville in this AU applejack comes from a family of both seaponies and sirens. herself mostly taking after the siren side of the family. She comes from a farming family of seaweed farmers that contributes to the spa and Ponyville’s many economy source. 

Applejack’s colony would suffer a infection of darkness that effected a good chunk of the siren population including a bunch of applejacks family and herself. It started with it switching on and off were they would go into schooling frenzies and attack wildlife or other seaponies and sirens. Ponies began to speak bad of sirens believing them to be showing their true nature, which only pushed applejack over the edge. she would begin hunting the waters and destroying other seaponies livelihoods and the things the spa required, even running off guest.

Starswirl has plans to take care of the siren colony that has begun to terrorize ponyville, and shining armor questions if he really has the best choices in mind and wonders if the sirens are at all like his sister and need help. 

[imgoingtocrash]

my teen angst bullshit has a body count

by @imgoingtocrash for @hailxhydra

Rating: T

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Avengers Team

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Jim Morita, Hydra Agents

Summary:

“Correcting people all the time, sucking up attention with the whole goody two-shoes act. I’m saying you’re a teacher’s pet, loser. And one day, everyone’s going to see it for the act that it is, and when they do—”

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

Two years ago, Peter Parker escaped Hydra's control and was taken in by the Avengers. Traumatized from the experience but healing, Peter's starting to get a hang of this whole normal teenager thing. However, when Flash brings up a happily forgotten trigger from his past, Tony comes to give comfort and remind Peter that he's worth more to his loved ones than Hydra could have ever dreamed of.

Read on AO3

My fic for @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! Hopefully you enjoy it @hailxhydra!!!

Full fic under the cut as requested by the exchange:

“—But I’m asking if it’s a good movie.”

“I’m telling you, it was either picking Selena for the third time or Rio, which is a stupid animated movie about birds.” Ned shakes his head dramatically. “Everybody else will fall asleep, and if everybody falls asleep, then Misses Rodriguez will give us a pop quiz instead of letting us have a movie day.”

“But I like animated movies. We like them. We watched A Bug’s Life like last week!”

“Because you hadn’t seen it before! Your film under-education is criminal, and if I don’t help you fix it, who will?!”

Ned has a point. Being kidnapped and raised by Hydra after the age of six really limits a person’s entertainment consumption, as he’s learned more than ever now that he’s surrounded by other teenagers who grew up with movies and tv shows to watch at their fingertips.

“I mean, Steve does have a list…” Peter points out weakly.

Steve keeps it in his little notebook along with other things he doesn’t understand the references to yet. He tried to encourage Peter to start something like that in the beginning, but Peter’s never really considered himself a list person. He just sort of soaks up the world now, like a curious sponge. Sometimes it means he has to Google things he doesn’t really understand the meaning of, but it also means a lot of movie nights with both the other Avengers and Ned, which is actually sort of a bonus.

Ned stops them in the hall. “Yeah, but are they cool movies or are they movies for old people and war veterans who haven’t been alive for the last 100 years?”

“...You know that I don’t really know the difference.”

Ned gives a sad shake of his head. “You’re lucky you liked Star Wars, bro. Otherwise we’d be in a very different place right now, like, friendship-wise.”

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

Peter got to pick the movie for their classes’ Cinco de Mayo party. Peter’s not sure what either movie has to do with the Mexican Army’s historical defeat of the French, but he only picked Selena because Ned suggested it. Maybe he should be regretting that choice, if the other option was harmless little Spanish birds.

“You know, Parker, I have a question,” comes a very annoyingly musical voice from behind them.

Peter just barely resists to roll his eyes. Every time with this kid. Not that Peter is any less of a kid than Flash Thompson, technically, but he definitely feels more mature.

Ned, also more mature than some of their other classmates, completely ignores Flash.

“You’ll be humming the disco medleys for weeks, I promise.”

“Wait, wait, disco? I thought you said this was supposed to take place in the 80s and 90s?”

“Music endures, dude.”

“Hey, el idiots, I’m talking to you!” Flash interrupts again.

“That’s not even how you—” Peter starts to correct, only to realize he’s stepped directly in it when Ned groans.

Flash laughs obnoxiously to himself. “Just can’t help yourself, can you, Penis?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter grumbles. It doesn’t really matter what he says now. Flash has the attention that he wanted, which means he won’t bug off until the bell rings and until he has the last laugh. And that always happens, because he’s really the only one entertained by all of the poking and prodding at Peter.

Peter breathes in, steeling himself. He’s survived worse. So much worse. Bullies with electric prongs and steel cages and control over every other aspect of his life. This is just high school. Normal kids survive it all the time, even when there are bullies and bad test grades and cliquey subcultures. This is just one privileged asshole who thinks Peter’s an easy target.

In some way, Peter’s actually proud of that. No one has ever seen him as un-intimidating before. Even his Hydra captors knew that if they lost control of him as an asset, he could easily turn on them.

(Part of him always asks why he never did. If he wasn’t evil, if he wasn’t like them, then why didn’t he just fight back? But Sam says that’s just his mind trying to deal with trauma, and Peter is trying really, really hard to get better at ignoring those kinds of intrusive thoughts.)

Speaking of talking to himself, Flash snaps his fingers in Peter’s face to get his attention back.

“You’d think for such a genius, you’d be a lot quicker on the uptake.” Flash shakes his head like he’s disappointed.

“Please just get to the point already,” Ned begs, throwing his head back.

“Correcting people all the time, sucking up attention with the whole goody two-shoes act. I’m saying you’re a teacher’s pet, loser. And one day, everyone’s going to see it for the act that it is, and when they do—”

Peter’s hearing blanks out.

Pet.

It echoes.

C’mere, Pet.

Stay down, Pet!

He was property, he was an animal, he was a weapon, their weapon, he was a mutant and he deserved it, needed it, he was the Spider, a mongrel, nothing, he was nothing and no one and Hydra was the only home a no-good runt like the Spider would ever have and he should be grateful—Kneel, Pet, be a good boy and kneel for your masters—but he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t—

Foolish Pet, you wouldn’t survive out there.

You need us, Pet. You’ll always need us.

“Peter?”

He returns to the moment with one heaving breath, only to realize he can’t take in another.

His collar is too tight, they always put it on too tight and if he complains they hit him and if they hit him he bleeds and it gets on his clothes and he won’t get any more until his bath and he hates bath time because they water is cold and stings his skin and the soap is so harsh it burns his nostrils and they’re watching him he knows they’re watching because they never leave him alone because if they did he would try to escape, he would—

“Peter, what’s wrong, are you—?”

He did. He escaped and ran away but now they have him again and he can’t live like this, not when he knows about best friends and pizza and friendly ribbing and how warm he feels when Tony pulls Peter close on the couch and presses a kiss to his head and tells Peter that he’s proud. He can’t be here anymore, he has to go, he has to run.

“Peter, wait!”

Tony is, to say the least, nervous when he gets a call from Midtown Tech’s front office.

He trusts Peter by now. The kid has come a long, long way since he snuck onto the Avengers helicarrier during the chaos of a Hydra raid. Skinny as a rail, scared, brainwashed...abused.

The Spider.

Peter didn’t like being with Hydra since they were the ones that made him enhanced, but he sure as hell didn’t want to be locked in an enclosed space with a bunch of Avengers at the time either.

As was evident by the fight he put up until Steve knocked him out. Steve still feels bad about cold-clocking a kid when Peter jokingly brings it up now, but Tony’s never shamed Steve for the decision. It was that or some kind of drug injection with the way Peter fought back tooth and nail, confused and defensive. Practically feral, from the well-fitting clothing to his lack of speech.

It was all for the better, though, once they got him back to the compound.

Peter was a talkative kid once he let himself be. Funny, too. Almost normal, if you forgot the mutant spider genetics and years of torture from a bunch of descendant assholes that seemed to hate and resent the very thing they created.

That’s why Tony agreed to let Peter start school. Real, normal, human school just like every other teenager in America attended until they finished all twelve years of it.

Because he needed to be normal, sometimes. He needed movie nights, [other things], and most importantly, friends that were his own age rather than a bunch of adult superheroes that often acted like children.

But also because Peter wanted to go, and Tony had a really, really hard time denying anything that the kid wanted when he could so easily provide.

Peter had such a hard time wanting anything, in the beginning. What did Peter want to wear instead of the plain, grey, dirty sweatpants from Hydra? What did Peter want to eat now that he could have an adequate amount of calories for his enhanced, still growing body? What did he want to watch? Listen to?

All of these choices were suddenly available to Peter, but shaking years of being denied any kind of want, any kind of choice took a toll on him that took a lot of work to get through.

Peter had put in the work. Unsurprisingly well. He was smart—tactically from years of being trained for missions, academically from whatever education Hydra must have thrust upon him. Not so much socially, but they were doing better as Peter spent more time around people that actually cared about him and lobbed insults around to tease rather than to actually cause emotional harm.

But was that enough...training, of sorts, to be around a bunch of teenagers? Sure, Peter was technically also a teenager, but they’d found him at 14. Tony still looked at Peter and saw the wide-eyed little kid sitting in the corner of a containment cell, flinching every time Tony moved.

Two years later and a lot of growth physically and emotionally, but was it enough?

Tony was hesitant about it, wish-washing the entire summer with maybes and I’ll think about its until the deadline arrived and Tony had to actually make the call.

Peter had pleaded, citing an extensive, cheesy list of films that made him want the high school experience himself for some reason. He very genuinely enjoyed shopping for school supplies. He passed Midtown’s entrance exam with results that faked years progressing in homeschooling that Tony knew would have been true, if Peter had gotten the chance to grow up like he was supposed to.

So, Tony eventually said yes, knowing that one day this call might come and Tony would have to be prepared for whatever was on the other end of the line.

An “incident” of some kind. Whatever that meant. The secretary was entirely unclear, only insistent that Peter’s family should get down to the premises immediately to handle things.

That was Tony.

Part of Tony couldn’t fathom why Peter chose him out of everyone on the team to latch onto. Another part wasn’t exactly shocked. Trauma recognized trauma, after all, even if the context was entirely different.

Tony knew what it was like to be belittled. To be seen as something you weren’t. To be abused by someone you never really trusted in the first place.

He and Peter talked a lot in that little containment cell. Hours of Tony blabbering like he always did when he was uncomfortable and Peter just sitting and waiting, waiting, waiting for the strikes to start coming.

When he said his first words.

When he told Tony his name—not Spider, but Peter Parker, a little boy from Queens who lost his parents and his whole normal life in the same night, according to FRIDAY’s records.

When he touched Tony’s arm for the first time and got a smile instead of a reprimand.

He waited and Tony was patient and it was a rough road, but...Tony was kind of a parent, now. A parental figure, at least, among others of varying degrees of quality and influence on a scarred teenager.

He was Peter’s family, whether either of them was any good at it in a traditional way or not.

And also, you know. His money was paying Peter’s tuition. His time went into helping Peter study for the entrance exam. His name was technically on Peter’s manufactured birth certificate because he was the one forging it and it wasn’t like anyone else was offering when the subject came up.

And maybe, a little, because he cared about Peter. Loved him. Wanted to be what Peter needed, what he deserved, and what better way to do that than to write his name on a piece of paper that signified the job he sort of kind of wanted?

Tony slams the car door behind himself after pulling into Midtown’s parking lot, putting on his sunglasses for the brief trip into the early afternoon sun. He’s checking security cameras, exits, and also preparing a hefty sum of cash to go into Principal Jim Morita’s bank account as well as a handful of government officials, if that’s what it takes.

Again, not that Tony doesn’t trust Peter, it’s just...when you get this kind of call and your kid is a highly trained former assassin, you prepare exit strategies on multiple fronts.

It’s been two months and Peter has only made one friend at this place. The kids can’t all be angels like Peter proclaims Ned Leeds to be. If one of them touched Peter out of nowhere or said the wrong thing, maybe Peter lashed out. Maybe Peter forgot to hold his strength back like he’s been training to do. Maybe something was broken.

Maybe it’s something far worse.

Tony has to be ready for that. He has to be ready for whatever it takes to protect Peter.

At the very least, the police aren’t on site. That’s probably a good sign that they’re willing to leave this as an internal matter for now.

The unhelpful secretary of before leads Tony out of the office by the arm at a quick pace, not explaining the situation at all before they arrive at the scene. Whatever it is. Tony was definitely expecting more blood or yelling or...anything, really.

A small crowd stands outside of a door, marked by a golden plaque to be the janitor’s closet.

Leaning on the door itself with his arms resolutely crossed is a kid about Peter’s age. Short black hair, light brown skin, dressed so similarly to Peter that Tony’s starting to wonder if that’s where Peter’s new obsession with those geeky little t-shirts has come from.

“Mister Leeds—” An older Asian man pleads, dressed in a suit and standing up straight with all of the authority he can seem to muster against the stone wall that is the teen in front of him.

The kid shakes his head in response. So this is Ned, then.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not moving. If he wants to stay in there to calm down, he should be allowed to stay in there.”

“I’m sure his parents—”

“He doesn’t even have—you don’t even know what he’s gone through!”

“And you do?”

“Well...kinda? No. But—but he’s obviously freaking out and everyone crowding around him is only going to make it worse!”

The adult rubs a hand across his forehead, stressing at a fold of wrinkles that settles there from the stress.

“Ned, I recognize you’re just trying to be a good friend, but this is a problem for—”

Tony clears his throat, catching the attention of both parties.

The older man sighs. “Oh, good. Thank you, Theresa, you can go on back to the office. We’ll take it from here.”

The secretary nods, brusquely turning around and heading off, leaving Tony there to be examined by both Ned and what must be the principal.

“Mister Stark, I’m glad you could come down, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. I’m Principal Morita.”

“Obviously you know who I am,” Tony replies, shaking the man’s hand. “What did happen, exactly? Theresa was sparse on the details.”

“I told you, it’s Flash’s fault! He was being a dick and—” Ned shouts.

“Mister Leeds.” The principal interrupts, stern. “Another student apparently said something...unkind to Peter. He didn’t take it well and locked himself in the closet. I haven’t even been able to assess the situation properly yet. Normally I would start with asking Peter’s side of the story, but...”

He looks to the closet, where Ned still stands, defensive.

“The bouncer is a real stickler, got it,” Tony jokes, aiming a small smile at Ned. “Peter does seem to attract the protective type.”

“Oh,” Ned says, suddenly meeting Tony’s eyes and gaping like a fish. He seems to have finally realized exactly who he’s talking to. “Oh, wow. Mister Stark, it’s an honor. I’m a huge fan, like, so huge. Peter tells me to shut up about you at least three times a day. When he showed me a picture of you guys I was like, ‘Oh my god, your dad is Tony Stark!’ and he was like ‘Oh. Yeah, I guess you’d know who he is, huh?’ like he totally didn’t get how awesome it is that you’re Iron Man. And I know you’re only kind of his dad, but still—”

“It’s suddenly become very clear to me why you two are friends,” Tony responds, keeping his smile on.

It’s actually kind of sweet to see that Peter’s found someone to confide in, even if he’s seemingly left out the more traumatic elements. But he also knows that Peter can hear them through the door, and he wants to get to the kid as fast as possible instead of dawdling for time.

If Peter wants to see him, that is.

He does, doesn’t he? Tony has been there for everything, so far. Every breakdown when the choices became too much, when the world outside of Peter’s little cell and all of the things he did that he wishes he could forget attack him at night. He hasn’t gotten old enough to not want Tony around when he’s upset, right?

“Sorry, Mister Stark. Sorry,” Ned apologizes. “I’m just nervous and worried about Peter and—”

“I get it, kid. You’re good.” He gives a reassuring grasp to Ned’s shoulder. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I really need to see Peter now. You can ask him yourself, but I’m usually the exception to any rule about Peter wanting to be alone.”

“Right, yeah. I’ll just—”

Ned turns to open the door, but gives Morita a shifty look, like he doesn’t trust the man not to dive bomb in if given the chance.

“Peter—”

“Let him in,” replies Peter’s strained voice. He’s definitely been crying. Poor kid.

Ned pulls back and nods at Tony, stepping aside to let him through.

“You did a good job protecting him, Leeds. Thank you,” he says to the teen before stepping into the dimly lit closet and shutting the door behind him.

The room smells musty and over-powerful at the same time thanks to the potent combination of cleaners and the mop cart sitting so close together. Out of anywhere Peter could have picked, this probably isn’t the kindest to his sense of smell if it’s making Tony already scrunch his nose.

It’s lit by a single pull-chain light bulb, and in the shadows of it sits Peter, curled into himself and leaning against a rusty metal shelf filled with paper towels, cleaning equipment, and a few bottles of product that have to be expired.

“Hey, Pete.” Tony frowns at the cracked floor tile, but settles himself next to Peter anyway. His back catches some kind of spray bottle sitting on the shelf that digs uncomfortably into his back.

Peter sniffs, not looking up from the cradle of his arms. “Hey.”

Tony heaves a sigh, for the drama. “So, I hear you got your first bully.”

Peter shrugs. “Guess so.”

“That Ted kid is pretty nice. He’s a good friend.”

“Yeah. And his name is Ned.”

Tony stops beating around the bush. “What happened, Peter?”

“It was fine. It was good, you know? I got an A+ on my Spanish test, and Misses Rodriguez offered to let me choose the movie we were gonna watch for the Cinco de Mayo party as a reward. I didn’t even know any of the movies, but Ned said Selena was good because Jennifer Lopez is hot, so that’s what I picked. It was a good day, Tony!”

“...But?”

“But then Flash—”

“I meant to ask, is that his actual name? Like, legally?”

“No.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Flash said…he said I was a…” Peter’s hesitant to let it out.

“Pete, a lot of kids at this age are testing boundaries. They’re going to say a lot of stupid, insensitive, offensive—”

“He said I was a teacher’s pet.”

There’s a long minute of silence. Tony blinks curiously a few times. He doesn’t want to belittle what Peter’s feeling, but he also doesn’t understand why it’s caused him so much stress.

“I know, I know it’s—but they used to—” Peter swallows hard, probably only delaying another wave of tears. “Sometimes, before, they would call me…”

“Pet.”

Peter nods, starting to shake next to him on the floor, their arms lightly touching at just Tony saying the nickname.

“They liked it. I think it made them feel better about themselves if they acted like I wanted it. Like—like being locked in the cages or collared or—or being muzzled was good for me.”

“You need to learn a lesson, little pet. Be a good pet and eat your dinner. Stop your crying, pet. No more of your barking, pet.” Peter quotes with venom flinging from every syllable. “But I didn’t want that, Mister Stark! I promise! They gave me these powers and I didn’t want to be their pet and they made me—”

“Peter, I know. It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault, I know.”

Tony curls Peter into his side, rubbing his back consolingly.

“When Flash called me that I just—I felt the collar around my neck again and I couldn’t breathe though the muzzle and they kept kicking the cage even though it hurt my ears and I could never sleep in there because it was so small and—”

“Peter—” Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s panicking, Tony realizes. Probably just like he did initially. A flashback that triggered him into having a panic attack.

“And I know that’s not what Flash meant but I was back there and I can’t—I can’t stop—”

Peter breaks into sobs, burying his face into Tony’s shirt and clutching on tight.

“Oh, Pete. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Tony soothes.

He presses a kiss to Peter’s hair, unsure when he became this tender. Probably the moment he realized this was the way he wanted someone to treat him in the midst of his worst, most vulnerable moments.

“Sometimes the bad memories come back unexpectedly, it’s alright.”

“But don’t wanna think about it anymore!” Peter cries childishly.

If it wouldn’t break Tony’s ribs, Peter would probably start banging at his chest in frustration.

“What if it gets bad and I don’t talk anymore and I can’t go to school like a normal kid and I lose everything and then you won’t want me anymore because I can’t get over this and stop being a stupid animal who needs its owners to—”

“Peter Parker, no. Absolutely not.”

Tony pushes Peter away so he can hold the boy’s face in his hands. So that he can fucking imbue into this kid how much he is loved and cherished and human.

“You’re not property, and you’re not an animal. What they did to you was wrong, and you know that now. I know that you do.”

Not just because Peter’s been to therapy since integrating with the Avengers, but also because he’s talked to all of him during his recovery from the horrors of his earlier childhood. About how his life felt before and how it feels better now. How he wouldn’t have left in the first place if he really wanted to be a part of Hydra like they raised him to want.

He’s not the child soldier they raised anymore. He’s so much more than they ever allowed him to be in that awful place.

He loosens his grip on Peter’s face only to bring him back again with an arm around his shoulder. Maybe if Peter feels him, touches him, the kid will remember all of the growth he’s made, the family he’s gained.

“Buddy, you are getting better. I know it. I’ve seen it. You know we’re all so proud of you and the progress you’ve made.”

Tony sighs. Part of him wants to sugarcoat it. That Peter has seen the worst of the world and now he’ll just be able to move on from it scott-free. It’s what he deserves, but Tony knows from experience that nothing in life is that sort of kind.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t have setbacks. I have had setbacks. Healing from the bad stuff is really, really hard, but it doesn’t make you anything that they said you were. You’re a wonderful, good kid who deserves everything he’s worked so hard for. And you’re going to get it because you have me and the team and your new best friend behind your back. You’re not alone, you’re not in a cage, you’re—you’re home, Pete. You understand?”

Peter sniffs, a sign that he’s worked himself up again, but his weak nod into Tony’s chest tells him that some of them at least might be happier tears.

“Listen to me, Pete. And I mean really, truly listen.” He looks down at the snot-covered, tear-stained teenager practically in his lap. He does love Peter. He wouldn’t have gone this far for any other kid in the world.

“It doesn’t matter what happens—hitches, mishaps, a dumb teenage mistake. You’re our kid now, Peter. You’re never going back to Hydra. Never. Not with me around.”

He knows it means something to say it out loud rather than leaving it to be assumed. He doesn’t have as much of a problem admitting it as he thought he might.

“I’m never giving you up, or letting you go, or treating you like anything other than a person. Do you understand me? That is something you never, ever have to worry about. Not from me.”

Peter sobs against him. This time it feels a lot more like relief. A release in the safety of Tony’s arms that Peter hasn’t really allowed himself, even after two years of being free of Hydra.

Peter didn’t tell the team everything. He may never even tell Tony everything. But this is one more thing Peter doesn’t have to carry alone, and Tony is happy to help their kid navigate the horrors it's brought back into his improving life.

They sit there for another minute, Peter’s whimpers muffled in Tony’s dress shirt. He’s sure the principal and Peter’s friend are getting antsy. But all the same it gives Peter another chance to calm down, and this time he seems a lot lighter when he picks his head up to look at Tony.

“Feel better?”

Peter gives a sniffle, but accompanies it with a nod and bright, attentive eyes.

“Look, I think school’s a bust for the day. Let’s go home. Whatever you wanna do, just you and me. Nobody else needs to hear about this unless you want to tell them, okay?”

“And if you wanted, I guess…”

Peter tilts his head, expectant.

“We could...nah, it’s probably offensive, right?”

“What?” Peter insists. Tony tried to warn him, but Tony also can’t resist an idea once it pops into his head.

“I just thought, you know, if you wanted—if you thought it would help, we could get you a—“ He almost ruins it, but catches himself.  “An animal. Like a dog or something.”

Peter is silent. He bites at his lip, contemplative. Looks in the direction of a mop bucket in the corner.

“Is that bad? You don’t have to, I just thought it might make you associate that word with good things, but if not—“

Peter finally meets his eyes with a tentative grin on his face.

“What kind of dog?”

[skeeter-110]

I Dreamt About You Every Night

Tony Stark has been dead for seventeen years due to a mission gone wrong. He's survived getting blown up, palladium poisoning, terrorist attacks, and even Thanos himself, and he gets killed by - what was supposed to be - a simple day-to-day mission. Or, so everyone thought.

|| Chapter One || || Chapter Two ||

Chapter Three:

“You don’t start searching for truth until something goes terribly wrong and you realize that you need it. There's no going back after that." - Tarryn Fisher, F*ck Love

"So how is May doing?" Tony awkwardly asks as they began to set the table, already dreading the answer.

He wasn't stupid. He knew he missed almost two whole decades - hell, seeing Pepper almost twenty years older than him rather than five years younger was surreal on it's own - he knew there was a big chance May was no longer here.

"She - uh - she passed. Two years ago." Peter says, confirming Tony's suspicions.

"Oh, Pete, I'm sorry." Tony sighs and, not for the first time, realized how much he truly missed over the past few years.

"It's okay. Well, it's not 'okay' but we kind of saw it from a mile away. She was diagnosed with dementia and eventually it just got to the point where she could hardly remember how to swallow so we knew it wouldn't have been too much longer." Peter explains, Tony giving Peter a sad smile in return.

He wasn't quite sure how to react to the news that he wasn't even able to say one last good-bye to his closest friend. To the only reason that he was even allowed and able to call Peter his son.

Thankfully, the subject got dropped quickly when footsteps were heard coming into the dining room.

"Hey, Claire, did you wash up? Mama's just about done with dinner." Peter greets the pre-teen that walked in.

"Yeah." The girl - Claire, Tony's mind supplies - slowly replies, hesitantly walking towards the table while side-eyeing Tony. "Uh... Dad?" Claire asks, Peter completely oblivious to the looks the pre-teen was giving Tony due to him walking into the kitchen.

"What's up?" Peter asks as he walks back into the dining room with a bowl of rolls. It wasn't until he saw the looks that Claire was giving Tony that he began to understand what was happening.

"Why does he look like Grandpa Tony?" Claire asks, her eyes not leaving Tony even once.

"Yeah, that is an explanation that will come with dinner. So go wash up if you haven't already." Peter says before making his way back into the kitchen.

Tony just watched as Claire continued to give him the stink-eye as she walked away; shivering once he was sure she was gone. She was almost as scary as Tony remembers M.J to be. Which wasn't a thought he should be having about his granddaughter.

And that - that right there was enough to stop Tony in his tracks. Because it was only then that he realized he had grandchildren.

Not when Pepper told Tony that Peter had a whole family now, not when M.J walked in pregnant with three other kids following her behind, and not even when one of Peter's daughters called him grandpa.

Right here and now it was finally hitting Tony that he was technically a grandfather. And, just like with all the rest of the information that's been dumped onto him, Tony wasn't even sure how to feel about that.

He didn't have too much time to dwell on it, though, before a bunch of chaos insured.

Annie-May ran into the room, practically barreling into Tony as she tried to evade a teen boy that was attempting to chase after her. It wasn't until then that Tony actually got a good look and noticed the crutches he was using to get around.

"Come here, you little runt!" The boy yelled at Annie, the small girl jumping up on the wall and crawling up to the ceiling to avoid getting swiped at by the pre-teen. "Oh, that's so unfair. Get back down here!" The boy yells at Annie, seething a bit more when all the girl did in return was stick her tongue out at him.

"Excuse me? What do you two think you're doing?" Peter asks in that "Dad" voice that even Tony had become accustomed to using, raising his eyebrows when no one answered him.

"Annie-May was messing with our project." The boy all but tattles.

"I was not! I was trying to get you to come downstairs for dinner like I was told to do!" Annie argues back making Peter sigh and rub his face.

"Okay, Ben, quit chasing and tormenting your little sister; she was told to come get you for dinner. Annie, you don't need to mess with their science project in order to get him down here. Now, Annie, get off of the ceiling and go in the kitchen to see if your Mama needs help; Ben, go wash up for dinner." Peter corrals, playfully ruffling Annie's hair as she walked by.

"You know, I don't really have to wash up. I washed my hands at school before coming home." Ben argues, earning a very unimpressed look in return.

"That may be true, but weren't you and Claire working with chemicals for your project?" Peter asks, the silence he got in return being all the answer he needed. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Go wash your hands." Peter says, lightly pushing Ben's head towards the bathroom, making the pre-teen laugh as he began walking away.

"Welcome to my - somewhat - controlled chaos." Peter jokes, finally acknowledging Tony as he sets a bowl of salad onto the table.

"Yeah, well, you can't really be all that surprised considering you used to run me and May ragged." Tony teased right back making Peter laugh.

"Let's just be thankful that none of them have tried to sneak out in pajamas and use their powers to save kittens from trees." M.J chimes in as she walks into the dining room, Peter letting out a gasp in faux offense.

"It wasn't pajamas!" Peter protests, earning unimpressed looks from both Tony and M.J.

"Yes it was." They both said at the same time, making Peter huff and mumble something about being attacked in his own home. M.J just looked at Tony before giving him a small smile; a huge accomplishment in Tony's eyes since he remembers it was almost impossible for him to do before everything happened.

"It's good to have you back. I don't know how you're back but I'm glad either way." M.J says, patting Tony on the shoulder as she walked past.

"You know, I think that's just about the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Jones." Tony says, pretending to sniffle and fold his hands over his heart.

"Don't get used to it." M.J says, giving him the same side-eyed glare that he had just received a minute ago from Claire.  

"There's the same scary girl I remember." Tony teases only earning an eye-roll in return.

"Well, you might as well take a seat and start making your plate up before the kids get here and you're left foraging for scraps." Peter says while him and M.J both sat down at the table.

Tony just chuckled and shook his head, deciding to take the warning and sit down also. If Peter's children had even a lick of the same appetite he has, Tony knew he should definitely take them up on the offer.

Almost as if they knew plates were being made, all three kids were running into the dining room, all but plopping down into their chairs and scrambling to put food on their plates.

Tony couldn't help but watch in awe at how easy it was for the perfect picture of domestication to occur. Almost as soon as every one had food on their plates, the kids took that as invitation to begin talking about their days.

Once again, Tony was left marveling over how much he missed. He missed Peter getting married, and having his first kid; along with his second and third. He missed most of his life with Pepper, and he missed Morgan graduating high school and going off to college.

Tony only allowed the sadness he felt to wash over him for a second before quickly turning it into determination. He was going to do everything in his power to make sure that he didn't miss anymore time with his family, and he was going to make sure whoever did this was going to pay for it.

"So, are we just going to continue to ignore the big elephant in the room eating dinner with us? No offense." Claire pipes in once it seemed that everyone was somewhat finished with their dinner.

"None taken?" Tony brushes off, unsure if he really should take that statement as a slight or not.

"It's kind of hard to explain." Peter starts, glancing over towards Tony and sighed when all the scientist did was shrug. Tony figured that since Peter - obviously - knew his kids better, he would be better fit to explain the situation to them.

"Well, you all know how there's bad people out there that don't like the Avengers? And how they'll do anything to stop us from doing good?" Peter begins, waiting for all the kids to confirm before continuing. "Well, we don't know why, but those bad people thought that the best way to stop the Avengers was by taking Grandpa Tony."

"But why would that stop the Avengers?" Ben asks.

"And I thought you guys were sure he was dead. Didn't you guys have a whole funeral for him? Why would you have a funeral if you didn't even know he was dead?" Claire chimes in before Peter could even answer Ben's question.

"So this is what Grandpa Tony looks like?" Annie blurts out, still making it impossible for Peter to answer any questions.

"Okay, okay, slow down. We're not sure exactly why they took Grandpa Tony, but we can just assume it was to stop the Avengers and take over. And we thought he was dead because the bad guys managed to make a fake body to trick us. They probably didn't like that we were hot on their trail trying to find Tony." Peter explains, both teens nodding their heads as if all of this made perfect sense.

"So, what happens now?" Claire asks, making Tony and Peter look at each other. Neither one of them really knew how to answer that question. They hadn't actually gotten that far yet.

"What happens now is you kids finish up your homework and get ready for bed." M.J replies when she realized that none of the men there knew how to respond. Of course, without fail, all three kids began to whine at the apparent absurdity of it all.

"Dad?" Claire asks, doing her best to give Peter her patent puppy-dog-eyes.

"Nope, sorry, I have to agree with your mother here." Peter says, making all of the kids grumble and groan as they got up from their seats, cleaned up their messes, and reluctantly made their ways back into their rooms.

"I am going to clean up in the kitchen, you boys need to talk and figure out what your next move is." M.J says, planting a kiss on the side of Peter's head before walking off towards the kitchen.

"So, I guess we need to figure out our game plan, huh?" Peter awkwardly asks, unsure really of where to go from this point.

"We need to figure out where they took me first before we plan anything else." Tony starts.

"How are we going to figure that out? Tony, I've re-watched the only footage that we have over and over again for five years. Not one clue of where they've hidden you popped up. All the clues we had were a dead-end." Peter tells the scientist.

"Maybe there's something in the field they dropped me off at." Tony shrugs.

"Yeah, maybe. It would probably be best if we went at night, though. That way it'll be harder for anyone to see us snooping around." Peter agrees, trying to come up with a simple plan that won't raise suspicion.

"So it's settled then; tomorrow night it's time to suit up." Tony says as they both began to stand up, Peter laughing and pulling Tony in for a hug.

Tony couldn't help but melt into the hug, glad to hold his boy - who was not really a boy anymore - in his arms.

"I missed you and your pop culture references." Peter light-heartedly admits, making Tony chuckle and ruffle Peter's hair.

"I better get going, though, so I'll see you tomorrow, Pete." Tony says before walking towards the kitchen and exchanging goodbyes with M.J.

"See you tomorrow, Tony." Peter repeats as Tony leaves through the front door, watching as Tony got into his car and began to drive away.

Something deep down in Peter's gut told him that no matter what, they weren't going to find anything but trouble tomorrow.

Tag List: @spideyspeaches​ @lost-lunar-wolf​ @joyful-soul-collector​ @hatakehikari​

[daughterofhel]

.

My icon died last night.

The little black and white cat, Auk (or-ick). A silly name from a badly remembered name from my childhood.

He was pretty much deaf; car got him.

I haven’t seen him since I left Texas, as I moved for a year to VA before finally moving to be with my wife in Vento. One of my guy friends family took him in on their ranch.

It was fitting; I did get Auk from a ranch. He was used to it, loved it even. And this was without the competition of an unhealthy amount of breeding stays like the ones I grabbed him and Ivy up from. I could only take two, my friend the same.

Funny. I had originally gone there to see the birth of a colt only to leave with a cat. Return the next day and get one more, a friend for my tiny runt of a thing.

And who should but all demand it be him to leave with me but Auk? The friendliest of cats that I’ve ever had the pleasure to be around. He also thwarted my attempts at having two girl cats. He was insistent to leave with me and you don’t argue when you’re chosen you know?

I won’t detail the tears following or the rough road and chaos that went on, but many double shifts back to back to back endlessly, a medicated clumsy grandmother with rapidly failing health, and complex roommate situations, I just wasn’t able to provide the needed time and care for my cats.

I cried the entire 45 minute drive to my buddys property when he said he could take them in. I had to pull over twice. They also cried the entire time, being afraid of the car, which made it harder. My buddy, He was the same guy who rescued a big pup clearly abandoned some years back. I had helped train him to not jump on people and other stuff. His folks also owned a longhorn ranch, lots and lots of space.

Those cats deserved better and this was a familiar element, now neutered, vaccinated, and with no stray competition and the dog was so careful. But god. I never wanted to say goodbye to my cats. It didn’t matter though, what I wanted; they needed care and time I wasn’t able to keep providing.

So I dropped them off. As expected, Ivy kept close but never got too close to the family. She simply doesn’t trust; I’ve no idea why such a little thing bonded instantly with me and remained quite the fixed cuddle bug. But she had. I felt worse about it with her than Auk if I’m to be honest.

Auk loved attention. Loved fetch. Belly rubs. This cat was a classic dog and a huge whore for attention. XD He essentially made himself at home and lavished any and all attention, to which my buddies mother instantly fell for this fuzzy dorks charms. He has been well cared for.

I know younger me could’ve and should’ve done better when I got these cats. Mind you, I’ve been gone for over 10 years now, so it has been quite some time. I’m doing what I wish I could have done for my cats then with the two rescues we got last year here.

I was young and working so many hours for nearly no profit after stuff was paid, even living at home and with roommates. I couldn’t afford the extra vet fees I needed or the fanciest of foods or any of that. I loved them, and I felt them being with me instead of the half starving state they were in from constantly competing with so many other cats, was still a better option for them. I still was at least able to do some of the important visits for them.

I cleared their fleas and earmites. I never did get rid of Ivys worms, though I desperately tried. I tried so many ways to get this pill into that cat. Even crushed into wet food. Friends helping to wrap and hold her to make her swallow. All the tricks we found, failed. She just. She wouldn’t take it. And I didn’t have the cash to go every single day and time she needed a dose to a pet clinic. I had checked more than once. It was so much money.

Older, better situated now.. I’ve been able to do right by the cats, Nyx and Tivali, that I have now.

We even saved Nyx’s eye. We have a system to give her her seizure medicine every 12 hours. They’re both fully up to date with their shots and are fixed. Ears totally clean. Monthly newly added anti flea tick collars.

The best food we can reasonably find at the local pet shop; their pelts are beautiful, soft, shiny, and they never smell.

We’ve even found a biodegradable corn based litter we can flush which has been the greatest find.

We get semi regular check ups on our girls and they’re doing just fine now. I’m still proud about saving Nyx’s eye. It was a tedious ordeal. 3-4 times a day we had to clean and medicate a cats eye. We got good at it even if she wasn’t fond of it. Thankfully the vitamins they required were like treats. Even the antibiotics from the colds they had from the shelter.

I miss Auk. And Ivy. And I wish I could’ve not only given them the life I’ve given my current cats now, (I’ve constructed basket beds, hammocks, a whole canopy jungle gym and rope bridge to boot for them with my wife!), but I wish I could have been the one to have them in my life still. I know it was not possible. It wouldn’t have been possible.

But I think of them. A lot. And I knew it was inevitable. Auk would’ve been well over 13 or so years by now. A little old but could’ve lived longer yet for sure. My buddy didn’t mention he has gone deaf. Of course he rarely goes home himself; I don’t blame him. Life’s complicated.

I have mourned these two cats multiple times now. So I’m not thrown into tears upon this news, I’ve cried plenty over the years already. But I’m still sad to hear that fuzzy delight has passed on. I won’t ask, but I hope, and believe, the accident was a quick end for such a friendly guy.

I’ll mourn him eventually in full. I know I will. But considering this is the fourth major bad news I’ve gotten in less than a month and most of it a week, I thought to write about it. If only to keep sane.

May I not receive the same news of my grandmother or my sister who both remain in the hospital.

And god. May my mother stop forcing me to recall and talk about our shared trauma under my father and just keep me up to date on my families health. I don’t want to be crushed under this suffocating vice on my neck that makes me hesitate to call and see my family. I know she needs to vent. And god. I try to let her. I do. I try to be kind; she needs it.

But it isn’t the time and place when I’m trying to figure out if my grandmother is dying or getting better. I shouldn’t have to receive that confirmation, be granted a brief video called hello and check in, with the price of an hour long dredge through a past I personally have gone to two different types of therapy through to try and cope with. Which, only to some degree, have helped.

One of the last longer calls we had she all but said she hoped her theories on my father possible molesting me were true, so, you know, that would be one more trauma we had in common. She went on and on, even trying to provide loose evidence to her theory. Troubling sentences I would say in my rare visits. Etc. She just. Wouldn’t. Stop. And that was after an hour of recalling how terrible her life was with my father and the abuse, the screaming, the terror, the hiding, the injuries, all of it. As if I wasn’t left to live my life with this very man she said her three years with ruined her more than all her past shit combined.

She assured me she was a good mother who tried. And honestly. No. But I do believe she tried. But she was already weak emotionally and mentally and my father wrecked what was left. She left me sometimes for a couple days lock in that house when I was in diapers. You don’t forget that shit. I’m still scared of the dark. I can’t reason with myself on it. But being mad about all of it doesn’t change anything and would hurt a woman already broken. Why would I do that.

Still. It bothers me. So fucking much. But she’s such a fragile person in a fragile emotional state with everything else on top. She’s been heavily depressed for many many years and it’s a bunch of other stuff that spirals and honestly, at this point, she’s toxic even to herself. I’ve tried working on it with her but it matters not if she’s not willing to work on it too. I don’t know my mother besides her many traumas. We’ve been separated and estranged for most of my life. Unless I was physically able to actually be there and provide a use.

But that’s par for the course; no one will have you around if you’re unable to provide something for it. My wife’s the first person who genuinely seems to enjoy having me around just because and wants nothing more. I do stuff of course; but with her I am not afraid a slip up could mean everything it taken away and lost. I can forget the dishes once or had a bad mental health day and stay in bed without it having catastrophic consequences. She’s such a wonderful kind woman; I cannot help stressing over how to repay her.

I try and I’ve expressed my distraught on the topic and though she always seems baffled and confused about my insistence that I should be doing far more, that lass doesn’t agree at all. It’s her parents home so I am not able to freely run the house as I would on our own, as I’m able and have in many places, so I’m often less useful with the restrictions. She’s also use to the flow and swing of things and has things half done before it’s being asked.

Our own place will make life smoother and calmer for both of us; most importantly her. I’ve watched this family, sweet, but absolutely tone deaf to how many and often their demands are tossed to her. All the other kids moved out with partners. Hell, the oldest s child basically lives here. Our own hurdle with raising a kid who we don’t have the final say on any single thing. His grandparents are enablers cuz they don’t want to hear any loud noises, no matter what. And that causes strain when the kid can and does get anything and everything as long as he kicks up a fit. And he sure as hell does. There are days it’s so bad my wife’s in tears. And that pisses me off. The kids a good person, but the fact no one will actually parent and draw definite lines and be firm with No’s can also make him horrible too.

I’ve to deal with the chess match that is my father. I often call him my own personal Devil. He kind of is. But one I’m familiar enough with at this point in my life. I know where and when to cut my losses, where to step around, when I need to swallow my pride or the easily seen through lies, and nod my head. If he was all terrible, I could have cut him from my life. But no one ever really is. And I do know I owe it to the man; he has helped tremendously in my life as much as he’s been a big problem of it. I know his biggest fear is to be alone and forgotten. I wouldn’t do that, not even to the devil.

I need some bland news. Not thrilling. Not depressing. Just some ‘hey that happened’ ‘oh cool.’ Kind of news. Just a small reprieve.

Im. Scared. Of what’s next.

I. Know that things are teetering dangerously into a very very tragic terrible story on my mothers end. I know her husbands already super suicidal. My half brothers severely autistic, non verbal, among a few other things and will require his whole life to have someone be there for him. He’s not stupid, and I hate when people treat him as so, but he is absolutely unable to care for himself. He doesn’t have the right motorskills even, though we’ve gone to many different places to try and help him find ways to do actions in his own way that still get the same result. I admire how he’s such a positive little man, generally not just happy, but delighted. I aspire to look at the world like he does. He reminds me to try. I do love that about him.

He is, however, a Big boy, 15 now, and growing. He’s also very strong now. My mother is getting to an age where his, as well call em happy slaps, are really hurting her. He is generally good about slapping your hands and not your back if you provide them. But when he is upset he is a shover; one bad fall could really cause a lot of chaos for my mother with her health. The husband spends most of his time locked in his room.

My half sister is epileptic. They have done tests for years and can’t figure out all her triggers or the whys. They just sometimes stop for a long time then suddenly happen. She’s 16, turning 17 soon. And I don’t even know if she’s going to be, since my mother won’t let me know. And there are large gaps from my sister being on tech due to concerns of what triggered her seizure this time so she’s often removed from electronic devices for a time.

When I had turned 21, my mother and her husband tried to have me sign a paper to become legal guardian of my half siblings, should something happen to them, so the kids didn’t get separated.

At that time, I was still taking care of my fathers mother along with working at a shit job, and had a house full of temporary roommates who I had offered rooms to as a sort of safe house for them. I have a knack for finding people from broken homes, what can I say? With the house my father and I built, we had space, so I used it. I was able to help the girls get out of toxic places, get on their feet, and move on. Not all of them always. But it did generally work out. One has a boyfriend who was growing worse to her on top of getting more and more into hard drugs while also she dealing with an abusive aunt who got worse once her mother died of cancer. So she was stuck with the terrible boyfriend. I had her stay with me as soon as I heard.

Another was complicated, but generally revolved around the alcoholic mother and the many, shady, men in and out of the house. The dangers of that alone were.. problematic without the friend also being suicidal and not taken seriously. I’ve stayed many times with her to just hang out, clean, cook, or even read a book cuz she just wanted to hear someone talking and such. You know? Until eventually I had her move in with me too.

Another’s mothers died of a cancer and dad an alcoholic; not abusive, he just became childlike and super forgetful. To a hurtful degree in his totally dependent state, whenever he was home. Plus their whole little trailer smelled of piss. And her boyfriend (they’re married with kids and happy now) was in jail. He had a bad past but had cleaned up his act quite well, but. Well that’s complicated. We all know that the police don’t squint at details of any issue if the accused has a problematic past.

I had two different girls with trouble at home who were being used by their family to constantly work, clean, and pay for everything.

I had an ex and her girlfriend with problematic homophobic parents who were terrible and semi violent so I had them stay with us so they could be together somewhere safer.

I did not. At all. Have the assured means to also be a parent of ten children with very different needs nor any medical benefits to help out with.

I also knew, that, with how my mothers husband was, if he had some guarantees for his children’s safety, he would likely end his life if he could. He’s been so close so many times. If signed this paper, he would have the last big most important concern that’s kept him from.. I just. I didn’t want him to do it. I selfishly didn’t want to be responsible for my siblings that would take away any bit of time I had for myself away. If anything happened, I would not abandon and forget my siblings. That’s absurd. But my mother implied heavily she wanted to be sure of that. And thus this paper.

I was struggling to find aid for college so I could go to school (never got to, by the way. Minus two classes in total. Aced them both, but it doesn’t matter. Credits in the wind). I was already dealing with my grandmother. The girls I chose to help. My shit job. My fathers temper and his horrible horrible ‘on again off again’ girlfriend. The chaos that alone committed.

I was busy providing a safe space in my home and making sure it stayed that way for the rare times trouble makers made the mistake of stepping up to my door to try and harass my girls.

I often worked 10 days in a row before a day off. Many of those days often had double shifts which were 16 hours. Sometimes I got an hour nap on the double shifts.

I just couldn’t do it.

And now. I remember something that came to mind back then that comes back to mind now. My moms husband adores my grandma. She’s been better to him than his own mother. She’s dying. He’s not taking it well and his mental health has always been pretty low and in the last couple years, already dangerously rock bottom. I’ll admit, same.

His daughter is now in the hospital. My brother is smart but there are some things we can’t really explain for him to get. He understands something is wrong but not sure what and it upsets him. He doesn’t like change and gets super fussy for it. Which can be taxing and hours and days and weeks of it. Grandmas been in the hospital for a couple more or more now. She coded a few days ago but they got her back.

If grandma dies. If something happens to my sister…

God. I don’t see that man sticking around.

And with my mom isolated. A lot of it her doing with her own family but also a good part of it being dumb petty bs of other folks that have no reason to behave like that (a whole drama I don’t have the energy to keep up with..). I just.

I see it as a domino effect of terrible terrible events I don’t want to write.

My mothers side im not very close to. I don’t blame my cousins, we were kids ajd our meetings were brief as they were. But the adults kept their distance with me. No one expected me to survive and decided it was easier to not get attached. To not get involved with me, and by extension, the devil himself, my father. So I never got the chance to know that family. Even when I tried.

So the only family I do have some ties to ajd know, is in a hospital bed, or on my dads side, and they’re dying to. And I get it… that at a certain age in life, many of the people around you start to. It’s just life. Ajd it sucks. And I miss having a best friend. I miss having friends who just seem to like to have me around. Want to have me around.

And I wonder if the friends I thought I made with my roommates were just because I provided something for them. Sure we laughed a lot, we cried over shared traumas, celebrated holidays together so as to not be alone.

But not a one speaks to me now. And hey. That’s also life. But it makes me feel pretty shitty; every where I look in the past, I can’t see any relationship, family, partner, friendship, that ever had me around unless I was providing services they wanted and needed. And I don’t mean the natural give and take.

I’m aware that I’m not the friend folks have around. I’m a fun distraction at best and have been told and reminded as such. I feel like shit cuz my wife’s wonderful and the best person in my life, and yet I still mourn having close friends to hang with. I miss gaming together the most. Or the bullshitting. Sharing food.

I’m not a nice person. I’m working on it. I am. I’ve also, for years, been working on my own personal problems so as to not bring them into even conversations. I don’t know what I am doing wrong but I just.. can’t seem to keep anyone around. And frankly.

I find myself crying about it a lot with no idea what to do.

And. I’m burnt out.

I don’t want to make friends anymore. And yet I still crave it. Which sucks. I can’t stop seeming to want that. And I keep trying. And trying.

I’m trying to accept and be happy with any bit of time I get from the few friends who talk to me. I try to take my chances where I can to hang out (online, as they’re all distance by now), cuz I know it’s a short window and I’ll be lucky to get a next time in the near future.

Online is harder to provide a use, and once the ‘honeymoon phase’ of the friendship winds down, some drop off the map entirely. A few abruptly. And I just. That’s fucked me ho a ton. I can’t even express how many hours I stay sitting. Thinking. Unable to understand what I am not doing or what I am.

It’s a pity party. I know. But it’s fine. I’m still the only one at it and though I’m quite forward even with nerves eating away at me, I still just don’t know how to keep anyone in my life.

It’s taken almost 6 years for me to relax enough to believe my wife will, in fact, stick around.

But at this point in time, I’ve realized, on a note I just keep getting really sad over, that the bits of friendship I’ll get to experience with people, will be brief, snippets, and frankly, only if I am providing something they’re not getting.

I’m essentially the magazine next to the toilet when you have a bad bad stomach bug and your phones dead.

Man’s that’s.. probably my own doing. I know I’m a lot of woe is me in here. And it’s a post talking to me, so I’m indulging in it. I absolutely can’t out loud or in life. I’m working on just.. trying to feel instead of ignoring it. Per my therapists suggestions. So I feel fucking overwhelmed, sad, and alone. Isolated. Heavily.

Ignorance is bliss for real. I wish I wasn’t so aware that I was the friend you go to when all options are down and you’re bored. When you are in a bind and need a safe spot (I don’t mind that one but it does suck that it’s the only time some folks pop back in or up). That if I’m not working then no one even has a small little want to just say hi. I wish I had people who just wanted to say hi because they just.. missed me? I gues?

I wish I knew how to be better as a person and a friend. I thought I was making strides on that. I really had. And yet.

Here I am. Just.

Bitching to the void. Becuase my wife doesn’t need me to add more to her life with her father (finally back from the hospital after surgery) and his health concerned along with everyone else’s and the own sets of ordeals here. I don’t need her to fret over me.

She’s needed distraction and I’ve left her alone for a couple weeks now to her drawing. Probably one of the best things I did do for her was clean up a space for a literal drawing room for her. She’s happier for it. People compliment her art and she rather enjoys the well deserved attention.

I personally would love to have her around more. But I’m having a lot of bad shit days. Weeks at this point. And I’m using my energy to be useful in setting the table or doing the dishes, the cats, playing with the nephew, etc.

All I want to do is sleep.

Frankly. I’m tired of waking up.

But for her. I will.

[soldrawss]

Percy blinked once. Twice. Three times for good measure.

"W-what?" Was the smartest thing his brain could supply under the circumstances. Because really, what else do you say to an accusation like that?

"You. Left. Me." Annabeth choked again through gritted teeth, clenching her hands tightly to her chest and holy crap she was crying. That was the first thing his malfunctioning mind registered. Annabeth was crying and she was yelling at him about something and she looked so scared and hurt and what on earth was she talking abou-

"You think I left you?" Percy asked slowly, connecting some invisible dots inside his mind.

"I don't think anything. You did! You left me! You left me with those Raiders and- ARGH! I can't believe I trusted you and-"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Percy said, putting his hands up defensively, daring to take a few careful steps towards Annabeth, who only retreated every step he advanced. "Annabeth, what are you talking about? I didn't leave you-"

"Yes you did! You did, you absolute jerk! God! I can't believe-"

"Annabeth,"

"-that I thought I could trust you! I let my guard down for one second, confident that you wouldn't betray me-"

"Annabeth!"

"-but oh, fool me once, right? I should have known better than to let it happen again, I should have known, but I thought you-I thought you would be different and-ACK, STUPID! I'm so stupid for hoping otherwise. So stupid for thinking that I could trust you-"

"Annabeth!"

He didn't mean to back her into a wall, or to shout so loudly, but it worked long enough to snap her out of her hysterical breakdown. He held her shaking arms secure enough to be able to hold her up if need be, and stared at her puffy grey eyes, the tears were now cascading down her cheeks. Her breathing was hitched and rigid, and Percy felt his stomach drop to the floor at the sight of her.

"Ok, first of all, breathe. You're having an anxiety attack, just, breathe. Please," Percy cooed in his softest voice, trying to calm down Annabeth as best he could. But in all honesty, he was having a hard enough time trying to calm himself.

His gut twisted uncomfortably. They'd been traveling together for a month now, practically spending every waking moment with each other trying to survive. You get to know someone pretty well when you're both stuck in an apocalyptic setting trying to stay alive. But he never thought, it never even occurred to him, that Annabeth could break down like this. That the headstrong, resilient, stubborn and wickedly smart Annabeth could cry like it was the end of the world all over again.

Except this time, it was his fault.

"Annabeth, I didn't leave you," Percy started off again once Annabeth's breathing had regulated and it looked like she wasn’t about to sock him in the stomach for touching her. "I would never- could never leave you."

His mind briefly wandered to the events from earlier, because, truth be told, he did leave her. But it was only for a second and that was never meant to be a lasting thing.

They had been cornered by a small gang of Raiders. Only about eight of them, which wasn't huge by any standards, but they still outnumbered him. How they had even snuck up on them without Percy noticing, he'd never know. But they did, and Percy was quickly trying to rack his mind around how to get Stella the heck out of there.

He had a bat with nails in it. Annabeth had a sharp dagger. They both had Stella cowering behind them. Really, they weren't the most threatening bunch.

But the Raiders didn't seem very tough either. It was an all-male gang, which wasn't uncommon but it was still unsettling. They were a scraggly looking bunch, probably the runts of the litter of other larger and more intimidating Raider groups. All they had between them were a few metal poles and bloody fists.

We could take them, Percy had decided, but not with Stella around and in immediate danger. He needed a quick out. Just long enough so that he could hide Stella away for just a second.

The out came with a price.

Annabeth, for their freedom.

Of course, he hated the suggestion as soon as the bastards offered it. There were no women in their group. So of course, they'd think Annabeth was the perfect 'prize' to bet over. It made Percy sick to even think about it. But it had sparked another plan and frankly, in the moment, Percy couldn't think of another option.

So he agreed, only if they could catch her. He quickly told a horrified Annabeth to run and booked it in the opposite direction, Estelle thrown over his shoulder.

He knew he'd have no trouble finding Annabeth again once they separated, and he knew that the Raiders wouldn't hurt her even if they did capture her before Percy could hide away Stella. He found an old black minivan with all of the windows still intact and with the keys still in the ignition. He told Stella to wait quietly for him to return, ‘hide under the seats and don't move a muscle’, locked the car behind him, and hauled ass back towards the sounds of shouting and ugly grunts.

Thankfully, they led him right back to Annabeth. She had managed to knock out two of them, but they had quickly surrounded her, Annabeth swinging around her knife widely in a protective ring around her, daring them to take a chance forward. Obviously, none of them did.

Which was just fine with Percy, because it gave him the chance to sneak up on them and take a few out. They fought for what felt like half an hour. Finally, Annabeth and him managed to knock them all out and get away, Percy not hesitating to grab Annabeth's wrists and drag her along behind him as he led her back towards the black mini-van. Stella, thank God, was totally and completely unharmed, which was better than what Percy and Annabeth had to show for the encounter.

But they were ok. The few scratches and cuts they got in the quarrel were nothing compared to what it could have been. They escaped with only a few words spoken between them, and Percy (dumbly) just chalked it up to being a bit shaken by the whole thing.

Obviously, looking back on it, it wasn't the best thing to do in the slightest. But he never intended to leave, leave Annabeth. Never intended to leave like he was never going to come back for her. Because of course he was going to come back for her. The fact that she even thought so, that she was so afraid that he would actually even consider abandoning her, left an awful taste in his mouth that he felt he was never going to get rid of.

"I'm sorry. Listen, I'm so sorry if it seemed like I'd just run out on you. But I wouldn't. Annabeth, honest to God, you gotta know that I would never abandon you," he didn't realize his hold on her arms lesson as he slowly let them drop to her hands, squeezing them gently. "And you're right, that was such a jerk move, I'm sorry I did that. I promise I'll never do something like that ever again."

And it was true. He really did feel awful about it, because she had a right to be mad and feel hurt. In her eyes, he just upped and left her, a seventeen-year-old girl, to fend for herself against eight grown men while her only chance of escaping just bailed on her. Percy was angry at himself for the douche move.

"But Annabeth, I trust you more than anyone on this planet. I knew you'd be fine long enough for me find a safe place for Stella. You're so amazing and prepared and just so goddamn smart, I knew you'd find a way to be safe until I could come back, but that’s no excuse. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel like you couldn't trust me and I shouldn't have just expected you to understand my plan at the time, and yeah, again. Jerk move. But I really do trust you." Her breathing had regulated out, thank God, and for the time being, it seemed like she had stopped crying so Percy guessed this would have been the best place to stop monologuing.

He dared to let go of one of her hands, and gently placed a thumb on her cheek, wiping away a tear streak. "I need you. I really can’t do anything right without you. So I'll do whatever it takes to get you to trust me again."

They stayed that way for awhile, just taking in each other's presence. Percy slowly started to panic as he came to terms with that fact that his hand was still palming Annabeth's cheek and the fact that she hadn't slapped it away meant that she was either really, really pissed at him or-

"Do you... do you really mean that. You really wouldn't have left me?" And Percy tried not let the crack in her voice break his heart as he gave her a soft smile.

"I mean, I didn't, did I?" He tried to joke, then cleared his throat because come on Percy, now was not the time for a sense humor. "No. Not for a heartbeat."

And when she sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his hand, Percy just about felt his heart palpitate to almost dangerous speeds.

"Thanks," was all she said as she closed the distance between them, pulling him into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head just under his chin. Percy prayed to all the gods of every religion that she couldn't hear his racing heart through his chest as he slowly lowered his awkward arms around her and held her back.

They stood there for what felt like hours. There breathing slowly matching each other's paces. Percy tried to keep his mind off the fact that a very pretty girl was hugging him and how she just seemed to fit perfectly in his arms when Annabeth interrupted their rapport.

"I'm... I'm sorry for all those things I said. I was just, scared. And angry. And I just thought you’d... I'm sorry." She sighed again. And Percy shook his head, even though he knew she couldn't see him do it.

"No. No, don't be. You had every right to be mad and it was like you said, I-."

Suddenly, Percy's once racing heartbeat practically stopped as a recalled what she had said earlier. Grabbing her shoulders and pulling them apart, Percy looked at her hard. Dread and concern weighing heavily on his chest.

"Wait. What did you mean by 'let it happen again'?" Percy asked, and the look on her face sent a cold shiver through his fingers where they connected to her shoulders. "Annabeth, did something happen before we met?"

She immediately looked at the ground, a flash of panic washed over her face, like just remembering the incident was as painful as sticking your hand in a fire. She leaned backwards, out of Percy's reach (regrettably so because after seeing that look, Percy didn't want her farther from arm's length again) until her back hit the wall. She slid down it until she was sitting on the ground, hugging her knees that she pulled close to her chest. Percy didn't hesitate to sit next to her.

"It was right after the virus boom," she said after a long pause of just them sitting together in silence. "After my dad got infected and died, I knew I had to prepare myself for the worst to come. I had to get back to the camp. I knew it would be safe there. We knew it would be safe. Luke and I."

Percy had remembered her mentioning Luke a few times before, just in conversations they had to pass the time during their long drives when it was actually safe to drive between towns. He was always curious about who the guy was or what he meant to Annabeth, but he didn't press the matter. It never seemed like Annabeth liked talking about him for long. Percy just assumed it was because he had died in some horrible fashion.

"Since neither of us was infected, we thought the best thing to do was to travel together. Go back to the camp that we both went to over the summers when our dads were too busy with work. Luke was my childhood friend. We did almost everything together. I'd known him practically my whole life. He was... he was my best friend." Percy didn't like the pause she took as she admitted that, or the fact that her nails had begun digging into her arms so hard the tips were turning white.

Percy didn't bother stopping himself from grabbing her hand nearest him and holding it. If this was going to be painful, Percy rather her hurt him than herself by remembering it. She didn't seem to acknowledge it, which Percy was thankful for, but she didn't let go either. And every time she squeezed his hand, he squeezed back.

"After a few days of traveling, we barely saw or ran into anyone. Just a few zombies, here and there, but nothing Luke couldn't handle. Which, honestly, should have set off alarm bells in my head, cause California is huge, but all I could think of was just how easy this was and how safe Luke made it." She paused again, this time squeezing Percy's hand so tightly that he'd have imprints of her fingerprints on his skin for the rest of his life. If that were the case, Percy could live with the pain. "But then, one day, we ran into them."

"Them?" Percy propped, only to the response of Annabeth's face frowning darkly and he immediately wished he hadn't asked it at all.

"The Crooked Ones."

This time it was Percy's turn to frown, almost mirroring Annabeth's disdain. She didn't need to explain further who they were, they were infamous across America.

A Raider gang, a large and nasty one. Said to have over 200 members, which, considering that most of the population was dead or part of the undead, was a frighteningly substantial amount. And they really were a crooked, awful bunch. They raided other groups, pillaged, really, it was their group that first incorporated keeping some prisoners as slaves. And they killed for sport. Most of the time, their game wasn't just limited to zombies.

Percy hoped they'd never came to face to face with them. He squeezed Annabeth's hand back.

"It was just a small group at the time, only about 30 or so people. But they were horrible. And they had their leader with them. The self-acclaimed Kronos." She spat out the name like it was bile on her tongue. Percy didn't blame her. From the rumors he's heard, that guy made Hitler look like nothing more than a grumpy painter.

"We tried to escape, but there was just too many of them, and I ran out of bullets and Luke ended up getting a really nasty cut over one of his eyes so he couldn't see anything. It seemed hopeless, but to be honest, in that moment, I wasn't afraid. All I could think was, 'as long as Luke is beside me, we can get through this. We'll survive this and make it to camp and everything will be just fine.'"

This time, instead of squeezing his hand, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Tears threatening to fall once more. Percy couldn't very well hold her face to soothe that pain, so he opted to sling an arm around her shoulders. She fell into it almost immediately, and once again, she was in his arms, clutching the front of his shirt.

"But he- Luke- He gave me up. He begged, pleaded with them to let him go in exchange for me becoming Kronos's personal slave. As if it was as easy as flicking on a light switch, he betrayed me like that. Years of friendship. Years of having each other's back. PLaying together. Laughing together. All of it. He threw it all away. He threw me away." Annabeth sobbed into Percy's shirt, and Percy did his best to ignore the wet stains he felt through the fabric as he held Annabeth tight, rubbing smooth circles into her back.

"He left me to rot with that slimy, horrible, low-life- I don't even know why Kronus let him go. He's never let anyone go. But I guess he liked the way Luke groveled at his feet pathetically and thought that was a fair enough trade. His skin and dignity, over me." She was now trembling in his arms, her shaking and hitched breathing hiccuping her words as she cried into Percy's chest. And Percy felt like just about the most useless guy in the world, able to do nothing but hold Annabeth tightly and listen as she continued.

"And you know what the worst thing about it was?" She asked, as if handing Percy a loaded gun and aiming it at her. Percy was smart enough not to take it. He only held Annabeth closer.

"It wasn't the two weeks I spent with those monsters, indulging in their senseless murders and horrid raids. It wasn't the skimpy clothes they made me wear or the awful things they said to me as they paraded me around like some kind of show pony. It wasn't even... It wasn't even when that bastard Kronus would... touch me," and Percy held his breath at the part, not realizing he was digging his nails so hard into his palms that they were starting to bleed.

"It was that during all that time, all that time, I kept believing that he would come back for me. Luke would show up like the knight in shining armor he'd always been and rescue me with some amazing daring plan like he always did. And everything would go back to the way it was and be ok but he- hic- he didn't come back. He was never going to come back." She was practically whispering now, but every word she spoke held so much anger and pain, she might as well have been shouting with how much her words stung Percy to his very core. And Percy would have held her tighter to him, but she was already so close she was practically on top of him.

"It finally took Kronos threatening to take it too far that I knew he was never going to come back. So I made my escape, cost me a nasty cut on my arm, but I finally got free of him. Of them. Of everyone." She growled, and Percy subconsciously rubbed the bandage on her right arm. "After that, I thought if I couldn't trust someone like Luke, someone who'd been my friend for so long, then I couldn't trust anyone. No one was safe. I had to be smarter, tougher, more careful about every single move cause I knew that I was the only one I could trust. There was no one else. I was all alone."

They sat there in silence, letting the atmosphere that was created settle and sink into their bones, making them feel heavy against each other.

Percy didn't know what to say. What could he say? Words couldn't even begin to describe the rage that was boiling in his chest. The murderous intent that was plaguing his mind at the thought of what Annabeth went through. What Kronos put her through. What Luke put her through. Percy hoped he never got the chance to meet either of them. Because if he did, well, Percy wouldn't know how to explain to Stella why there was dirty blood on his hands.

But in a way, there wasn't anything he needed to say that she didn't already know now. Because she had said it herself. She was alone. Was. Past tense. She wasn't anymore. She knew that; she had to know that now. Percy didn't know how else to convey it any better that he was gonna make sure that she was never going to be alone again than by continuing to hold her tight against his chest.

She was not alone. Never again was Percy going to leave her side. He'd fight all the zombies and raiders in the world to make sure of it.

"I'm not Luke." Was all Percy dared to say, mumbling it firmly into her hair.

"I know," she whispered back, her voice rigid and hoarse from crying against his skin.

"I'll never be Luke," Percy replied, more defiantly. Annabeth only squeezed him tighter, burying her face into his neck.

"I know, Percy. I know."

I'm never going to let you go again.

[cc-kouga-blog]

These Are The Days 5/9

For @quietrook

On Halloween, Adam and his entryway buddies attended a costume party. They coordinated their costumes and went as the modern day version of the seven dwarves. Adam sent a pic of himself dressed in a blue shirt with the word ‘sleepy’ printed on the front. He had on a matching blue dwarf hat and a tight blue legging.

Ronan sent him a pic of Opal wearing red boot, red hat and blue raincoat. She was holding a small brown suitcase with PB OL scrawled in Sharpie.

‘And what’s your costume?’ Adam texted.

After 5 minutes of no reply, Adam sent another one.

‘Are you chickening out on me farmer boy?’

It took another 15 minutes but Ronan finally replied.

Adam had to hide in the bathroom for a while to deal with the hilarity of Ronan Lynch dressed in a white wife beater, red flannel shirt, dirty jeans, work boots, and sun hat while chewing on a piece of straw. He kept his face passive, but there was no mistaking the glint of mischief in his ice blue eyes.

‘Are you for real?’ Adam sent.

‘Just trying out my new uniform.’

Adam tried to muffle his laughter, but some still escaped and filled the small bathroom. He saved the pic to his ever growing collection and fired out one last text.

‘Don’t let her eat too many candies.’

Ronan’s reply was immediate.

‘No shit Parrish. I’ll eat the candies. She can have the wrappers.’

Adam chuckled and put his phone away. When he exited the bathroom, Lucas was giving him a weird look.

“Are you okay, man? You’re not high are you? I swear I could hear you laughing in there.”

Adam grinned and shrugged. “Nah. I’m good.”

***

During Thanksgiving break, Ronan and Opal drove to D.C while Adam took the train and joined them there. They stayed at Declan’s apartment. Ronan and Adam wasn’t one to celebrate Thanksgiving, but they were grateful at the chance to spend some time together. Matthew was ecstatic that he get to spend the holiday with both of his brothers.

Declan had to attend a dinner party and he invited Ronan and Adam along. Both refused, Ronan especially because there was no way he would spend a night in a stuffy suit talking about a bunch of nonsense with old people, when he could spend it cuddling with Adam. Matthew opted to stay home too. When Declan gave him a betrayed look, Matthew only shrugged.

“I live with you Dec, and we go to a dinner party almost every week. Ronan’s only here for a few days.”

Declan heaved a resigned sigh and went alone. He gave each of his brothers a hug, dropped a kiss on Opal’s blond hair and squeezed Adam’s shoulder.

“Happy Thanksgiving.” He threw over his shoulder before he closed the front door.

Ronan made them turkey sandwiches and two tubs of popcorn and Adam made hot chocolate with marshmallow. Opal helped Matthew carried the blankets from their rooms into the living room and made a very comfortable nest on the large sofa. Ronan pulled up an age appropriate movie, then they burrowed under the blankets. Opal was squished between Adam and Ronan, while Matthew rest against Ronan’s other side.

When Declan came home later, he found the four of them sleeping in a pile of humans, satyr and blankets with the TV still on. He turned it off, drew the blanket up over Matthew’s shoulder and Adam’s exposed feet. He looked at them fondly and went to his own bed.

The next morning he had to hide his sniggers into his pillow as several voices groaned and complained about neck crick (Adam), back pain (Ronan), cold ass (Matthew), and fucking hooves (all three).He heard shuffled steps and doors opened and closed. He figured everyone had woke up long enough to return to their respective beds. He would give them another hour of sleep before he start banging in the kitchen. He could use a lie in once in a while as well.

When the break was over, Adam, Ronan and Opal said their goodbyes to Declan and Matthew. The brothers and Opal hugged each other. Declan shook Adam’s hand and told him to call if he needed anything. Adam nodded and thanked him.

Then Ronan and Opal dropped Adam at the train station. They exchanged kisses before Adam stepped out of the car. Opal waved and Ronan shouted ‘Catch you later, runt.’ Adam smiled and waved back to Opal, then grinned and discreetly raised his middle finger toward Ronan. Ronan laughed and peeled off the curb. Adam had to rub his chest to ease the slight pain blooming there as he watched the BMW drove away. Then he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. This was okay. This was temporary. This would pass. They would be fine.

As he waited for the train, Adam’s phone beeped. He checked it and saw that Ronan had texted him.

‘Miss you already. Kick some ass there.’

Adam smiled and texted back.

‘Don’t drive and text Lynch.’

Once the train left the station, he sent another text.

‘Miss you and Opal too.’

Adam pocketed his phone and took out a book. They would be fine.

***

When Adam came home for Christmas break, they spent the nights squished together on the couch. Ronan did his modules and Adam read through his textbooks while Opal sat between them going through her ABC book.

Ronan had to stop himself from snorting at how domestic they all were, but when Adam caught his eyes and gave him that look, Ronan had no other choice but to lean in and kiss him. Adam’s resulting smile was gut wrenching in the best possible way. And maybe being domestic wasn’t so bad after all.

The Gangsey couldn’t come home, but a postcard arrived one week before Christmas. The postage stamp was from Ecuador. Ronan put it up on the fridge’s door, where many others had already resided. Adam had missed his friends. Sure, they exchanged the occasional texts and e-mail whenever the Gangsey had coverage, which wasn’t often, but it wasn’t the same. They managed to Skype during Christmas Eve though, and seeing his friend’s faces and hearing their voices loosened some knot in Adam’s chest. His friends were healthy and having fun. Adam couldn’t ask for more.

On the 25th, Declan and Matthew came for mass but left soon after because Declan had another one of his dinner party. He and Matthew left gifts for Opal and Adam with Ronan. Adam was surprised that the other Lynches even prepared one for him. He couldn’t remember ever celebrating Christmas, so he wasn’t really into the Christmas Spirit. He made note to bring something nice for them when he, Ronan and Opal drove up to D.C for New Year.

Declan’s gift was a Nook Color while Matthew’s gift was a green Nook cover. Adam was conflicted about receiving such gift, but Ronan had argued that it was rude to return a gift. Beside, it was actually something helpful to his studies, so Adam might as well use it. Adam grudgingly accepted it. He sent text to Declan and Matthew, thanking them for the gifts.

Opal got a dress and two sets of Joules welly boots. Opal loved the boots, but she didn’t care much about the dress. Ronan’s gifts were a pair of pitchfork and hoe cuff links and a small painting depicting St. Isidore and Maria, the patron saints for farmers. Ronan hang the painting above the mantel and chucked the cuff links to his bedside drawer.

Maura invited them for a ‘Holiday Lunch’, which turned out to be regular lunch but with more casserole than usual. Dean was nowhere in sight so Ronan only had to put up with Orla’s flirting and Calla’s ribbing. Opal was sitting with Blue’s little cousins and Adam shared stories of his college life so far with Jimi and Maura. All in all, it was a nice lunch. Maura sent them home with a cheery wave and several containers of leftover.

After dinner, Adam whipped out two leather bracelets. He put one on Opal so she can have something to wear beside Adam’s old watch, which surprisingly survived all her adventures.

“Catch!” He said as he threw the bracelet at Ronan.

Ronan deftly plucked the flying bracelet mid air and snorted when he saw the initial R.L burned into the leather face.

“Aww, Ah-dum! You got me a present.” He drawled in fake Henrietta accent.

Adam only raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to whisper in Ronan’s ear.

“Sweetheart, I got you two presents.” Adam had lowered his voice and let his Henrietta accent rolled out, thick as molasses. “The other one is in the bedroom.”

Ronan’s back went rigid and his breath hitched. Adam gently blew and his hot breath caressed the shell of Ronan’s ear. Ronan shuddered and let out a string of curses under his breath. Adam smirked in satisfaction and got up from the couch they were lounging on.

“I’m gonna make some hot chocolate.” He announced to the room and made for the kitchen, not waiting for reply.

“You are a goddam fucking tease Parrish!” Ronan yelled after him.

“Language!” Adam yelled back.

Once Opal was tucked in bed, Adam led Ronan to their bedroom by the hand. Ronan pretended to be nonchalant, but his pink ears and neck told a whole different story.

“Lock the door behind you.” Adam said over his shoulder with honeyed voice.

Ronan was quick to obey. When he turned back to Adam, the other boy was sitting on top of the bed, grinning unabashedly. He had a present on his lap.

“Here’s your second present.” He said cheerily with no hint of a drawl anywhere.

Ronan stood there flabbergasted, this was so not what he had imagined.

“What the actual fuck Parrish? Are you fucking playing me?” He bit out.

“What do you mean, Ronan? I’m just trying to give you your present.” Adam tilted his head in blatant fake innocence.

Ronan visibly tried to gather himself. It took him several seconds to unclench his fist and jaw. Then with a heavy sigh he dragged his feet and sat beside Adam.

“You’re fucking horrible.” He muttered dejectedly.

Adam plopped the present on Ronan’s lap. “Open it.”

Ronan gave him a dirty glare and tore the paper wrap viciously. Inside was a plain box. He lifted the lid and had to bit his lip to stop from smiling. He ran his finger over the black leather jacket reverently.

“Try it on.” Adam prompted.

Ronan scoffed. “I’m not your Barbie doll.” Then proceeded to stand up and put on the jacket.

The jacket fit him perfectly. Ronan didn’t catch the label, but he knew good quality when he wore one. He almost made a comment about how much it must have cost, but managed to stop himself from making that mistake. Instead he twirled around, modeling the jacket for Adam.

“So?” He finished turning and caught Adam’s eyes.

Adam had a lazy smile on and his eyes were half mast. Ronan felt something twisted low in his belly. It turned into a ball of want when Adam rose from the bed and stalked toward him.

“Perfect.” Adam purred. “Now let me take it off of you.”

Suffice to say, Ronan got yet another present that night.

Though to be fair, when Adam woke the next morning, there was a new watch on his bedside table, along with a matching belt.

***

Two days after Christmas, Ronan drove them to D.C for New Year. The traffic was a nightmare and the two hours journey stretched into five and half hours of torture.

Ronan and Adam kissed when the clock struck midnight on New Year’s Eve, with Opal running circles around them.

[rootbeergoddess]

Space Brothers

Alright, this is a commission I did for @liliaeth and I really love the idea so much that I might return to it if people are interested. Basically, Star Wars and Guardians of the Galaxy in the same universe. Yondu finds young Finn who is already being brain washed by the First Order. What does Yondu do? Adopt Finn of course! If you like this story, let me know and I Might make a multi-chapter fic inspired by this idea. Also, if you like this story and want to leave me a tip, you can do so here. Thanks @followingnaturespath for the editing.

The boy was young. Much younger than Peter was. Skinner too. Kid probably hadn’t had a decent meal in a while. He was also not good at holding a gun. His form was off and his hands weren’t steady. Yondu stared down at the child who held the gun. His body was shaking and in his eyes, Yondu saw he wasn’t confident. He had heard about how the First Order kidnapped children and brainwashed them. This runt must have been one of the new trainees. Poor little fucker.

“Do ye know how ta use that boyo?”

“Do you submit to the First Order?” The boy replied.

Yondu blinked before throwing back his head and laughing. Shit, they were already lying to this tiny bastard. God, these poor kids.

“Listen here son,” Yondu took a step forward. “I ain’t submitting to nothing. Especially to some fuckers who wanna ta wipe out other planets and control them.”

There was a pause before the boy lowered the gun.

“I don’t want to shoot you,” He threw the gun to the floor. “But they’ll kill me if I let you live.”

“Nah, they won’t kill ye,” Yondu crouch down before the boy. “Now, do ye know who I am?”

“Yondu Udonta, Ravager captain. One of the last Centurians who wields a Yaka arrow that only responds to a whistle.” The boy recited.

“Shit, I’m famous ain’t I?” Yondu grinned. “I can take ye away from this hellhole. If you promise to follow orders, ye can be part of mah crew. Sound good?”

“Your crew? You mean I could be a Ravager?”

“Yep. It’s a pretty sweet gig if I do say so myself.”

Yondu watched the boy’s face as he began to think. It didn’t take him long before he nodded.

“Alright, that’s settled. Come with me.”

Peter had named the boy Finn. When asked when he was called, the youngling had replied with FN-2187. Peter said that wasn’t a name, it was a bunch of letters and numbers. He also said the First Order was dumb if they couldn’t even think of good names for their Stormtroopers. Yondu agreed but he didn’t let Quill know that. But Finn was happy with his new name. Yondu heard the boy whispering the name under breath constantly and each time he did, a smile would appear on his face. It was like Christmas for the kid.

Peter had decided he was going to be the one to take care of Finn, no one else. Peter was only three years older than Finn, but Finn listened to Peter more than anything else. Of course, Finn listened to Yondu but if Kraglin or any of the other Ravagers tried to tell him something, he would turn to Peter and wait for his approval. Yondu found the whole thing both hilarious and adorable but again, he wouldn’t say anything. He had a reputation to keep.

The first few weeks for Finn had been interesting. Yondu remembered watching the boy in the mess hall. He stared at his food, not touching it. Peter had noticed and asked what was wrong.

“This is all mine?” He asked. “I can eat it all?”

“Yeah,” Peter said between bites. “And if you want more, you can get seconds.”

“What are seconds?”

“It’s a second helping.”

“I’m---allowed to do that?” Finn’s eyes went wide.

Peter nodded. Finn then dug into his food, barely chewing. After that, Finn always went to fill his plate with a second helping.

As the years passed, Finn slowly became less meek and at times, he was more annoying at Peter. But for the most part, Finn was more of a thinker than a doer and if he did anything, he planned things out first. By the age of thirteen, he was the person Yondu went for when it came to planning heists. Yes, he trusted a thirteen-year-old more than grown men. Finn never overlooked a detail. He also was an expert flyer which pissed off Peter. Yondu would tease him, saying maybe he should have just kept Finn. This resulted in Peter giving him the bird.

But as he got older, Finn was still close to Peter. They were polar opposites. Finn was calm, calculating and clever while Peter just ran head first into danger. While Peter would flirt with any woman he saw, Finn was nervous but polite. Finn also wasn't’ really a dancer. But for some reason, they worked well together. Peter also chose Finn as his sparring partner and if Peter needed backup, Finn was his only choice. Their loyalty reminded Yondu of his past.

The two of them reminded him of Martinex and Yondu when they were young.

It was sometimes painful to watch his boys but he couldn’t hold it against them. Peter had lost his mother and Finn had never known his family. They found each other. Yondu couldn’t take that away from them. He couldn’t. The world was cruel and being a Ravager was sometimes the cruel fate of all. Finn and Peter needed each other. They always would.

The battle for Xandar had been brutal. Finn thought he would have died that day but Peter and his friends had saved them. He couldn’t believe it. Peter was a hero. A Guardian of the Galaxy. Finn couldn’t help but feel pride. But along with that pride was a small twinge of sadness. There was no way Peter would come back to the fold. He didn’t belong with the Ravagers anymore. Finn knew that. He saw it in Peter’s face, and it hurt.

But Finn wasn’t angry. Sad, yes, but not angry. With a sigh, he turned to head back to the ship.

“Finn!”

Finn turned around as Peter headed towards him. In one hand, he held the orb.

“Wait, didn’t you just---”

“Finn, come with us.”

“Wait what?”

“You don’t belong with the Ravagers but you and I? We’re brothers,” Peter said. “You have to come with us.”

“ But--what about Yondu?”

“Finn, you can explore the galaxy with me and be free. We don’t have to listen to Yondu anymore.”

Peter was right. Both of them were adults. Yondu may have been the captain but he wasn’t their father. Finn had no obligation to stay. Being a Ravager was better than being a Stormtrooper but he had never felt like a Ravager. Ravagers were supposed to be cruel and heartless. Finn had a heart and couldn’t find it in himself to be too cruel. Stealing had always felt wrong to him but he had kept that to himself. The only person who knew about these inner feelings were Peter. Finn told Peter everything. The life of a Ravager wasn’t really for him. While he was grateful that Yondu had saved him, Finn didn’t want to be a pirate for the rest of his life.

“Ask your friends if it’s okay.” Finn finally replied.

Peter beamed.

“How come you are a different color than Quill?”

“Drax! Dude, you can’t ask that!” Peter covered Finn’s ears. “Don’t be talking to my brother like that!”

“Peter, I can still hear you talking,” Finn said.

“It’s okay baby bro, let big brother Peter take care of this.”

“I regret this decision,” Finn sighed. “Maybe Yondu will take me back.”

“C’mon, you know you love me!”

Peter put Finn into a headlock and gave him a noogie. Against his better judgement, Finn started to laugh. Drax watched them, confused. Noogies were a foreign concept to the alien. Was this the way human brothers greeted each other? Once Finn was released from the headlock, Drax decided to ask another question.

“How did Yondu produce such different offspring?”

“Um---Mr. Drax, do you think that Yondu is our father?” Finn asked. “You--you do realize he’s blue right? And we’re---we’re not.”

“But you both look just like him.”

“We do?” Finn looked at Peter. “Should we be insulted? I feel like we should be.”

“Possibly,” Peter shrugged. “But enough about that. Let me show introduce you to the rest of the crew.”

Peter wrapped an arm around Finn before leading him off to the cockpit where Rocket was. The whole time, Peter couldn’t stop smiling. They had saved the galaxy, his record was clean and Finn was going with him. When Peter had left, he felt bad for not telling Finn. He had considered letting Finn in on his plan originally but Peter was afraid that Yondu would catch on. Plus, Finn was so tender-hearted. If Yondu had caught him, Finn would have claimed he was the one at fault.

Peter couldn’t let that happen.

Ever since Finn had joined the Ravagers, Peter felt responsible for him. Peter had once had a family but Finn never got the luxury. The First Order had taken Finn away from his home when he was a child. Hearing that had made Peter angry when he was young. He had been kidnapped when he was younger but Finn had never gotten a chance to even know his family. The worst part was the First Order brainwashed their soldiers. Stormtroopers were taught to only have one allegiance and that was to the First Order.  You had no thoughts of your own. Everything you did, everything you said had to praise the First Order.

What had bothered Peter the most was that Finn had even been given a name but a number. When he told him his ‘name’ Peter decided he wasn’t going to use it and gave Finn a proper name. Finn had deserved that much. In fact, Finn deserved more. He deserved a chance to be a somebody instead of just a Ravager.

“So what do you think of this motley crew?” Peter asked Finn.

“They’re pretty interesting, I’ll give them that much,” Finn said with a smile. “So you’re a guardian of the galaxy?”

“Yeah. And you can be one too. I mean you did help back there with the fight against Ronan.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Yeah ya did!” Peter playfully punched Finn’s arm. “I saw you with those sweet piloting moves! I even nudged Gamora and said, hey that’s my brother! That’s Finn.”

“Peter, stop it,” Finn smiled. “If anything, I should be bragging about you. You held an Infinity Stone in your hands. No one can do that.”

“I’m telling you Finn,” Peter wrapped his arm around Finn’s neck. “Stick with me and we’ll go places. Places that aren’t jail cells.”

Finn didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. All he needed was his brother and the opened vastness of space.

[thekillingquill]

Dog Days Are Over

Pairing: Reader x Reggie Word Count: 6,910 Warnings: An animal was definitely hurt in the writing of this fic. There’s probably some swearing. Summary: Reader and Reggie live on the same street and walk the same route with their dogs.  A/N: This is in tribute to Ross Butler’s portrayal of Reggie Mantle. Wishing him nothing but the best on all endeavours, but we’ll certainly miss him! Also if at least one person cries I will have considered this a success. Apologies on the lack of proofreading on my part.

“Oh Captain, my Captain!” I call out laughingly to the dark haired boy ahead of me. My dog, Ducky, lunges forward once in an impressive show of strength, dragging me a few steps closer to the boy I grew up down the street from and his faithful companion, Vader. Reggie shoots me a bored look over his shoulder, not replying, but slowing his walk to allow us to catch up.

Reggie rolls his eyes at me as Vader pulls on his leash in an attempt to get to Ducky. The end result is ruined by his half-smirk which looks more amused than annoyed. His dachshund runs between the legs of my Bernese Mountain Dog and she lunges playfully at him once, and then twice, barking and sniffing at him. After a moment the dogs are settled and we begin to walk side by side.

“So, congratulations on getting captain, dude!” I try to strike up a conversation. Reggie grunts in reply and mumbles something in return. “Hey, what’s up? I thought you’d be happy. You were giving Archie hell for that spot.” Reggie rolls his eyes again and grunts louder, but we both know I’m not easily derailed. I open my mouth and he cuts me off before I can really get started.

“Alright already!  I guess I’m not that excited ‘cause Coach offered it to Andrews first. He turned it down.” I can tell this is hard for Reggie to talk about. It was a blow to his ego to even have to compete with Archie, but to lose out on it and only get it by default?

“That’s because Archie knows you’re the better man for the job,” I assure him. Reggie gives me that half smirk again and I can tell that he knows what I’m doing but he finds it at least a little endearing. 

“Well we all know that. Just sucks that Coach didn’t see it.”

“He’ll see it soon enough, Reginald. Archie saw it, I’ve seen it and I know that a lot of your other teammates have seen it, too. You’re going to be a boss ass Captain.” Reggie rolls his eyes at me and shoulder checks me.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as I stumble off the edge of the sidewalk, but he’s laughing and that’s what’s important to me in the moment. Shortly after, we arrive at the park and let our dogs off their leashes. Vader takes off like a shot, and Ducky noses around at the grass nearby. Reggie pulls a bright orange ball out of his pocket and tosses it a few times for Vader to chase after. Occasionally Reggie throws the ball towards Ducky and she attempts to get it before Vader races over. I cross my arms over my chest and bite my lip, watching our dogs play. It isn’t long before I notice that Ducky is showing less interest in the game. Reggie teases the dogs by pretending to throw the ball, and she doesn’t react at all.

“Everything okay?” Reggie asks, nudging me with his elbow. I’m not sure if he’s referring to my quiet disposition or Ducky’s lackluster response.

“There’s that Captain spirit,” I try to tease, but my tone falls flat. Reggie wouldn’t be my first choice to unload my feelings on, but he’s here and he asked. I sigh and start to let my worries ease out.

“I’m just worried about Ducky. She’s been tired lately. Not that into her favourite treats or toys. Just been acting off for a few weeks. We went to the v-word a couple of days ago and they ran some tests. We’ve got to go later today to get the results.” I reach around Reggie and steal the ball, taking two steps and throwing the ball as hard as possible for Vader. I imagine that ball is carrying all of my fear, all of my worry, all the bad things away from me.

“Shit, that sucks.” Is all he says. I shrug and Vader drops the ball at my feet.

“As you may recall, we detected some abnormal swelling during our initial examination. We took a sample and had it tested and I’m sorry to have to tell you but it’s not good. The results show that the swelling in Ducky is cancerous…” Doctor Jameson, the veterinarian we have been taking Ducky to since we got her when I was five, is still talking, but I can’t hear her over the buzzing in my ears. I keep my eyes on Ducky who is panting innocently on the examination table while Doctor Jameson parts her fur to show my parents what she’s talking about. When the buzzing stops, she is talking about treatment options.

“And how much would that cost?” My father asks gruffly. He only has the two settings: gruff and drunk.

“The total cost for this particular treatment can range anywhere between $6,000-$10,000. I have to be honest with you, given Ducky’s age and this particular type of cancer, you may want to consider investing your efforts in making her as comfortable as possible.” Doctor Jameson has a soft, confident voice and sympathetic eyes. Ducky loves her and I have always found her to be comforting and steady, even now.

“And how much is that gonna cost us?” My father asks, still gruff.

“Should we be considering, you know…” My mother pipes in, practical as always but sounding sorry to ask. She jabs vaguely at Ducky, a poor gesture that equates to one thing: an injection.

“At this point, it’s something to consider,” Doctor James concedes. For my benefit, she looks me straight in the eye and adds: “This form of cancer can be aggressive.”

“I need some air,” I choke out. I hear Ducky’s nails clicking against the exam table as she rushes to follow after me. We sit in the waiting room for twenty minutes, her sitting against my legs and me with my arms looped around her neck in an embrace that will have to end one way or another. I can’t remember a time where I didn’t have Ducky. Whenever my dad has more than four beers, he likes to tell me about the day he brought Ducky home.

“I must have been out of my fucking mind to bring that thing home. A bunch of us were at the bar after a hard day and my boss announces that his wife’s dog had a little-litter of pups and he offers me one. I lost my damn mind, I said yeah and he brought me to his place and gives me this little runt and I take her home and once she’s in the door I know there’s no getting rid of her. It was love at first sight. Never did understand why you named the damn thing Ducky, though.”

Despite his style of storytelling, I know my dad likes Ducky. He feeds her from the table, and he lets her up on the couch when he thinks no one is home. He even lets her lay her head on his thigh and he plays with her ears. My mom never had pets growing up and she has trouble with the mess that accompanies living with an animal. She is constantly at her wits end about the smudged windows, muddy pawprints on the floor, fur coating the furniture, and during Ducky’s puppyhood, the “accidents” on the rug drove her up the wall.

Her biggest problem with us having a dog was that I wanted Ducky to sleep in my bed with me. Despite my tantrums, my mother insisted on putting Ducky in a crate at night. After two nights of constant whining (me and Ducky), crying (me), and accidents (Ducky), my mother gave up on crating. She tried putting Ducky outside, but I cried even harder and the neighbours complained about her barking. My mom’s last attempt was to get Ducky a dog bed for my room. It didn’t work and mom still complains incessantly about it.

I know they aren’t bad people and that they aren’t intentionally trying to break my heart, but I already know how this ends. Dad is to the point: why wait? Mom is ready to have her clean house back after twelve years. Dad will try to comfort me by saying I’ll get over it. My mom will be kinder and tell me that Ducky won’t suffer anymore. Ultimately, the decision will be made for me. Still, this isn’t easy, but since when is loving something ever easy?

My parents, in a moment of thoughtfulness and compassion, offer to let me skip school on Friday to spend the day with Ducky before….

And mom, in a surprising move, tells me firmly that if I don’t want to do this, then she and dad will figure out a way to make Ducky comfortable until they can’t anymore: “If we have to take a second mortgage out on the house, then we will, baby.”

Then in a very predictable move she reminds me about how uncomfortable this could be for Ducky, how they can’t promise how long it will sustain her… but softens the blow with a hug and a whisper: “These kinds of decisions are never easy and I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”

I cry into Ducky’s neck the whole drive home. On Saturday at 10:00 am, she has her last appointment with Doctor Jameson. The appointment feels like the wrong decision, but letting Ducky exist without finding joy in the things she loves seems wrong, too. Maybe there’s no right decision.

I sniffle and lift my head to look out the window, trying hard to stop crying. It feels like I’ve been crying for close to an hour and my head is pounding. As we pull into our neighbourhood, I can see the blurry form of Reggie in his front yard tossing a ball to one of his friends (I can’t tell who it is through the never ending onslaught of tears).

I try hastily to hide my crying before getting out of the car where Reggie and his friend could possibly see me. Unfortunately, it’s kind of impossible to hide the kind of crying that comes with having a broken heart. My eyes are so swollen it hurts to blink and the ache of my throat makes swallowing nearly impossible. I take a deep breath and get out of the car, holding the door for Ducky. I try to ignore how slow she moves as she gets out, just one of the many signs I’d been purposely blind to for weeks.

The sound of the door shutting must bring their attention to me.

“Hey, Y/N-” I turn away hastily from who I now know is Moose and take determined strides to my house. I’m too embarrassed by the state of myself to care about being rude. I wait for Ducky in the doorway and look at the porch, suddenly wracked by sobs that quickly turned into desperate gasps for breath. Watching her move so carefully over the steps hurts, so I close my eyes until I feel her wet nose press against my fingers like she was saying it’s okay, Y/N, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m here.

I don’t have much of an appetite that night, but we all sit around the table and pick at dinner. I tell my parents about the day I have planned and we all pretend to not notice one another feeding Ducky under the table. Her wet nose presses against my bare knees, snuffling for more scraps and I scratch behind her ears to comfort myself as I speak.

That night I sleep pressed as close as possible to Ducky, not caring about any noxious gas she might emit or that her fur tickles my nose. I just want to hold her while I still can.

We get up bright and early on Friday so that we can get the most out of the perfect day I planned for her: we’re going to go to Pop’s and I’m going to let her have more burgers than she’s ever had in her life and then we’ll go to the park and end our day at a dog beach two hours outside of town. Dad, in a show of kindness, has offered us the use of his car.

Except when I open the front door, it’s Reggie Mantle and his car sitting in the driveway instead of my dad’s trusty old Toyota. His arm is hanging casually out of the open window, a pair of sunglasses resting atop his head and Vader standing with his front paws on the steering wheel. Ducky, seeing her friend, pushes out from behind me and jogs down the front steps to greet them with more energy than I was expecting.

“Are you coming or what?” Reggie calls to me sarcastically. He’s rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling, too. It’s a rare sight, a Reggie Mantle smile.

“Is this a prank?” I ask him suspiciously, letting my tote fall to the porch and my dad’s keys dangling uselessly from my fingers.

“What kind of prank would this be? The kind where I’m gonna get you and your little dog, too? Get in the car, loser! We’re burning daylight here.” He bangs his hand against the door causing Vader to slip and honk the horn. I move slowly to the driver side of the vehicle, still not quite trusting the situation, and stick my head in. Ducky, knowing better than to jump up on someone’s car, is jogging in circles looking for a way in.

“Reginald, what exactly do you think you are doing in my driveway at 8:30 am on a Friday?” Reggie looks uncomfortable, which usually means he’s moments away from being sincere.

“Your parents called me last night.” Reggie lets that statement linger a moment before he recovers. “Look, Ducky’s practically my dog-in-law. You can’t really think you can plan the perfect day for her and not include Vader.”

For the first time since the appointment, I smile. It’s small, but it gives me a renewed energy.

“Will you just get in the car already?” He snaps and I pull my head back abruptly.

“Right, come on, Ducky! Let’s go.” I open the backseat and coax Ducky to jump up. Reggie’s SUV is a bit higher up than dad’s Toyota, but between me and the captain of the football team we should be able to get her in and out without any issues today. I hop into the passenger seat and narrowly avoid getting headbutted by Vader as he dives into the back seat to be with Ducky.

“So where are we headed?” Reggie asks as he reaches behind my seat to look over his shoulder. He slowly eases out of my driveway and I try to ignore how appealing I find his cologne.

“Pop’s to get burgers.” I answer confidently. Reggie faces forward and removes his arm from behind my seat.

“Okay… but normal people tend to go to Pop’s at 8:00 am for breakfast foods like waffles or french toast.” He says as he switches gears. Despite his statement, he takes the turn towards Pop’s.

“Pop’s to get burgers.” I repeat forcefully.

Much to Reggie’s delight, the waitress at Pop’s had the same reaction to my order.

“You want ten burgers? Is this a joke I’m not getting or sumthin’? You realize it’s breakfast time, right?”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, thank you very much.”

I couldn’t imagine Ducky’s perfect last day without Reggie and Vader. With them by our side, the day feels epic. We spend the morning walking around the park and throwing a few balls for Vader to fetch. My mind is preoccupied with all the other times Ducky and I spent at the park and Reggie listens to story after story and even adds a few of his own.

“Do you remember when you were like eight years old and your dad had you hold her leash while he got his tools out of the back of his car? She saw that squirrel and dragged you through your lawn and mine before your dad got her to stop. You must have weighed like 40 pounds! And you had all of these grass stains. It was hilarious!”

We laugh together at the memory and the more I smile, the better I start to feel. Reggie and I bump shoulders and eventually he puts his arm around me and runs his palm over my shoulder in a surprisingly comforting gesture.

Before we leave the park I let Ducky have two of her burgers. It’s still early in the day, so I ask Reggie if he minds driving around for a bit with the windows down. He lets me navigate and pick the music. With all four windows rolled down, my hair whips around wildly. The sight of it causes Reggie to laugh which in turn causes me to laugh. In the back seat, Ducky and Vader both have their heads out the window, basking in the scents of their town. I use the side mirror to watch them and Reggie pretends not to notice when I start crying.

I wipe my tears and reach for one of the water bottles Reggie procured at a gas station. Our hands meet and he doesn’t let go.

The dog beach is mostly vacant in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday. Reggie points out a pug wearing a lifejacket standing in the shallows. Vader disturbs the pug by racing into the water, trying to start a game of chase. Ducky, however, bypasses them both and begins to swim out to the middle of the lake. I laugh at her excitement and shimmy out of my shorts.

“I hope you brought your swimsuit, Reginald.” I tease as I pull my shirt over my head.. I take advantage of his shock to throw my clothes in his face. “There’s a beach blanket in my bag!” I yell back at him as I run after my dog.

Reggie starts in on some of Pop’s burgers while he sits on the beach, watching Ducky and I play together. I continue to tread water for a while even after Ducky has returned to the beach. I watch her, Reggie and Vader resting on the blanket and commit the moment to memory. Reggie offers Ducky another burger and my own hunger drives me out of the water.

There’s a sudden rush of guests at the dog beach and Vader runs off to make friends. Reggie follows after him, leaving Ducky and I alone for the first time today. She’s laying on her side, breathing deeply and I scooch down so that I can rest my head on her stomach. I shut my eyes for a moment and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I must fall asleep because when I open my eyes again, the light has changed and Reggie is running his fingertips along the arch of my foot. I giggle and kick, rolling onto my side and pushing myself up.

“Jesus, how long was I out for?” Reggie smirks and pulls at a loose thread on our blanket. Vader is curled up in front of us, his fur still damp and my clothes are in a bunched up pile next to him. The sky is alight with oranges, purples and pinks reflecting hauntingly off the water.

“Hours, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe, Reginald.” I sit up fully and pull my shirt over my head with a sigh.

“Whatever you say, babe.” I scoff and roll my eyes, but ultimately let it go. Sitting on the dog beach with Ducky asleep beside me, watching the sunset with Reggie and Vader, felt peaceful. My heart is still broken, but it was a good day full of more laughter than tears. I feel the warm weight of Reggie’s arm across my back followed by his fingers curling around my shoulder, pulling me close to his side.

“I’m glad you let me come.” He mutters, pressing his mouth against my temple in a not-quite-a-kiss.

“I had a choice?” I joke weakly, pressing myself closer to hide my face in his shoulder. I press my mouth against his t-shirt in a not-quite-a-kiss and let the moment wash over me again and again and again.

“It’s okay if you decide you don’t want to be there for this.” I’m sitting on the stairs, trying to find the will to put on my shoes. Ducky is sitting next to me, sticking her nose in my ear. I look up at my mom and give an unconvincing smile, but remain silent. We got home from the beach late last night and my mom let us sleep in which means I haven’t had the opportunity to shower. My hair feels disgusting from the lake water, so I’ve pulled it into a side ponytail. Ducky is loving the unrestricted access to my ear.

“You sure you wanna do this, kid? Your mom and I will be with her. She won’t be alone when she goes.” Dad is gruff as always, but this time I vocalize my response, forcing my foot into my last sneaker and standing.

“I need to do this.” My parents exchange a look that only they can understand. With my shoes on and Ducky’s leash clipped to her collar, we have no other excuses to stay home. When we step out the front door, I see Reggie Mantle in my driveway for the second day in a row. He’s wearing his letterman jacket and a pair of dark wash jeans, his hands buried deep in the pockets. He pulls one of his hands out and raises it in a wave. Ducky heads straight to him, slower than yesterday, and I follow quickly behind.

“Reginald, what are you doing here?” I ask in greeting. I have never seen Reggie look more uncomfortable. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and rubs the back of his neck.

“I thought maybe I could come with you…?” I think it surprises us both when I accept. My parents don’t question Reggie when he gets into the back seat with Ducky and I, but my dad looks extra gruff. It’s a tight fit with all three of us back there, but it doesn’t matter because I want to be as close as possible to Ducky. I bury my face in her fur and feel Reggie’s fingers move through it in a calming manner. Occasionally the pad of his index finger drags down my cheek. His touch is soft and warm and I cling to each moment of contact for comfort. As panic threatens to overwhelm me, I begin to count each occurrence of an accidental caress. I’ve counted to twenty-one by the time we pull into the parking lot.

I’m visibly shaking when we get to the door of the veterinarian’s office. Reggie puts his hand on my lower back and it steadies me momentarily.

“You don’t have to come in,” my mom offers again, smiling at me sympathetically. She’s wrong and she’s been wrong every time she’s offered it before. Ducky is my dog and I have to be there for her. I won’t take the easy way out. I need to be there for her just like how she was always there for me. I shake my head and imagine that my bones are made of steel and remind myself to be strong for myself and for Ducky. In spite of this, I continue to walk on legs that tremble with each step forward.

Doctor Jameson is waiting in the lobby for us with a sad smile. A ringing is starting in my ears and I worry that I might be going deaf on top of all the other shit I have to deal with. She leads the way to an exam room where a veterinarian’s assistant has just finished her preparations. She gives me a sympathetic smile and squeezes my arm as she passes. Ducky can’t get up on the table on her own, most likely due to our adventure yesterday, so my dad and Reggie work together to lift her.

“She won’t feel anything,” Doctor Jameson says. She looks me square in the eye and I feel her passing some of her strength on to me. “Some people find it comforting to pet them.”

My hand quivers as I reach out and bury it in the thick fur on Ducky’s side. At my touch Ducky’s head lifts and her eyes strain to see me. She is my best friend and I know she can sense the wreckage inside of me. As I look into Ducky’s eyes, I have to choke back tears. The effort of it worsens my shaking and Doctor Jameson has to put her hand on Ducky to prevent her from getting up.

I break and let out an inhuman sob. I suck in air desperately and before I fully descend into grief I say his name: Reggie. Not Reginald, or Captain, but Reggie. I sound utterly wrecked to my own ears and I can’t imagine what my parents think about my behaviour, let alone him. It is a nanosecond before I feel one of his arms come across my torso from behind and the other secures a tight grip on my waist. He’s holding me up, I realize. I am no longer capable of standing on my own.

“She’s gone,” Doctor Jameson whispers and I turn and grip fistsful of Reggie’s shirt, crying so hard that the sound can only be heard by the sensitive hearing of a dog.

I spend my weekend crying and sleeping. Before we left, Doctor Jameson gave my dad Ducky’s collar. It’s a black collar with skulls wearing flower crowns adorning it. I saw it at a flea market and knew it would be beautiful around her neck. I cling so tightly to it that I lose sensation in my fingers for hours. At some point, Reggie brings Vader over to visit. I was too tired from crying to be of much fun. He holds me until I fall asleep for what must be the third time that day. When I wake up, my back is pressed to his chest and our fingers are linked and the back of his hand is resting against the bare skin of my collarbone. Vader is asleep between our legs, his head resting on my calf.

My parents let them stay the night and on Sunday Reggie gets a call from his mom and has to leave. Before he goes, he presses his forehead against my temple and gives my arm a squeeze.

On Monday, Reggie stuns me by approaching me at my locker to ask me how I’m doing. He looks tired and his voice is soft, eyes serious. Not once does he roll them at me. It’s enough to convince me to tell him the truth.

“I keep seeing her everywhere. Like, out of the corner of my eye I think I see her waiting at the top of the stairs, or laying on my bed… but the hardest part is trying to get used to sleeping alone. I haven’t slept alone in ten years, Reginald. To make matters worse, my mom and dad have their yearly couples retreat this weekend. They offered to cancel, but they only did that so that they don’t seem like dickheads. See, if I accept their offer, then I’m the dickhead. Because they expect me to say I’m fine it’s no problem, sure leave me home alone. They just offered so they can at least they say they did. And when they feel bad on their trip they can comfort each other by saying that they offered and I said it was okay. It was never really an offer. It was a societal expectation that has been checked of their list.”

He doesn’t roll his eyes or smirk or smile, he just stares. And I know right then and there that I’ve officially become too much drama for Reggie Mantle. So it’s completely out of left field when I open my door and find Reggie Mantle in my driveway for the third time in a week.

“Hey, Y/N.” My eyes are roaming over him hungrily, taking in as many details as I can. It’s not until this moment that I realize I was scared that I’d only ever seen him again at a distance--at football games, in his yard, in the halls at school.

He lets me look like he understands what I was feeling. I finally focus on the tote he has hanging over one shoulder and Vader’s empty leash in the other hand. “So, I need a favour.”

I raise an eyebrow and sag against the porch railing, gesturing with my hand for him to continue. I’m hoping that the gesture looks cool and indifferent as opposed to what it really is: relief. Relief that Reggie will still talk to me, that he is here in my driveway and that he thought of me when he realized he needed something. Relieved that all our progress from neighbours to friends appears to be in tact.

“So my aunt was admitted to the hospital last weekend and we’re going to be heading to Texas for the weekend to see her and help take care of my cousins. Would you be able to dogsit Vader?” My mouth falls open in shock.

“Dogsit?” I repeat, aghast. Reggie has the gall to smirk at me and roll his eyes.

“Yeah, dogsit. I figure I’d ask you because it’s not like you have plans, right? If you’re too busy, though, Moose can watch him, but he lives pretty far from the park...”

“Don’t be a smart ass, Reginald.” He smirks again, it’s a smug twist of his lips like he’s just won. He whistles and Vader comes racing from down the street, his momentum taking him past Reggie and closer to me. I pat my knees and Vader lopes up the steps and circles my legs with excitement.

“Oh my god, he’s not even going to miss me, is he?” He’s trying to joke with me, but it’s not working. There’s a disconnect between us, an awkwardness because Ducky is gone, but Vader is here. My heart is shattered, his is whole. But Reggie’s had a taste of what it will be like and it has shaken him, at least a little.

“He’ll miss you every second.” I promise him. Before Reggie leaves, I ask him what happened to his aunt.

“Cancer,” he says. And I know we are both thinking of Ducky.

Vader and I spend a lovely weekend together. He likes to sleep under my blankets, curled up against my stomach. We go for walks at the park and the ache of missing Ducky is still there, but I don’t cry once. When we walk home from the park, Vader tugs the leash in the direction of his home and I know that he misses Reggie, just like I said he would. When Reggie gets back from Texas, he finds Vader and I playing fetch in the park. He looks sullen until he spots us.

“Oh Captain, my Captain!” I call in greeting. Reggie surprises me by wrapping his arms around me from behind and lifting me clear off my feet. “Reginald!”

He puts me back on the ground, but continues to grip me tightly. We sway from side to side and then Vader is jumping all over his master.

Every day Reggie knocks on my front door and invites me to walk Vader with him. We talk about simple things, sometimes we share memories of Ducky and I start to heal with their help. One day, I broach the topic of getting a new dog with my parents. They surprise me by saying that they will consider it, but that they think I still need some time.

“You can’t just replace a dog,” my dad announces gruffly. After Ducky has been gone for six months, I ask again and they give their blessing to start looking at shelters.

Reggie is the first person I tell and after several walks I find the courage to ask him if he and Vader will go with me to the shelter. He thinks it’s weird, but he humours me.

“Listen Reginald, Vader is like my dog-in-law. Any new dog of mine has to accept that if they want to be part of the family.”

We’re on our fifth visit to the shelter when I meet Jaspar, a mutt with a sweet disposition who is twice the size of Reggie’s daschund (or as I call him in private, Reggie’s better half). Jaspar’s amber eyes have a regal air about them and seem older than his estimated four years. He’s got short, tawny fur and a white marking on his rump that almost looks like a raindrop. I go into his kennel to meet with him and offer him my hand. He sits and leans forward to sniff at my fingers. Slowly he descends to the floor and rolls to his side.

On our sixth visit, we arrange for Jaspar and Vader to have an introduction. They bond almost instantly.

“I think he’s the one,” I tell Reggie with a hopeful smile. Reggie rolls his eyes and smirks.

“Then what are you standing around here for? Go get your dog!” With his encouragement driving me, I put in the adoption paperwork that day, without consulting my parents. When Reggie and I bring Jaspar home, my father is gruff and my mother is annoyed. In Reggie’s presence, they restrain themselves and it all feels so normal.

It’s possible that I am more excited for our first walk together than Jaspar is. I laugh when he picks up the end of his leash and drops low to the ground with his tail wagging high in the air. My excitement is clearly contagious. I grab for the leash and he playfully jumps to the side, just out of reach. The game ends when Reggie knocks on the door. I make sure I have a good grip on Jaspar’s leash and open the door. Immediately our dogs lunge toward each other with tails wagging. I grin at Reggie over their heads and he smirks back at me. It takes a few minutes for them to calm down enough to start our walk. There’s something charging the air between us, more obvious today than any other day.

As we begin our walk, Reggie’s fingers interlock with mine and suddenly we are holding hands. Not long after that, Jaspar makes an attempt at a squirrel and I need both hands to get him under control again. Reggie doesn’t take my hand again and I try not to feel disappointed.

It’s not long until we reach the park. At this time of day there are only one or two people here. We let our dogs off their leashes and I’m a little nervous for Jaspar. What if he takes off? What if he and another dog get into an altercation?

Reggie pulls a purple ball out of his pocket and throws it to the other end of the field. Both dogs sprint after it and Jaspar catches it on its second bounce. Reggie’s arm reaches around my waist, startling me. He pulls me close and rests his chin on my head.

“Stop worrying,” he tells me firmly. He lets me go to throw the ball again and this time he pulls me into a tight hug, resting his cheek on my shoulder and burrowing his nose in my hair.

“Y/N?” He mumbles. I swallow thickly and focus on keeping my voice steady.

“Yes, Reginald?”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for months.” He confesses before pulling away. Vader has been waiting for his attention and drops the ball at Reggie’s feet, barking and twirling, look at me, Reg, look at me! Throw the ball, pal, come on, throw it! I’ve been patient. Reggie throws the ball into the bushes this time, but doesn’t reach for me again.

“You could, you know. Kiss me, that is. I’d be okay with it.” I say out loud. Reggie raises his eyebrows and rolls his eyes at me.

“Oh, you’d be okay with it, would you?” He puts one hand on my hip and the other pushes my hair away from my face.

“Don’t be a smart ass, Reginald.” He smirks at me smugly and leans down. Just when I think he’s about to kiss me, he pauses. I gasp at the nearness of him and I know he’s smirking.

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” I whisper and put a hand against his cheek to pull his mouth to mine. His lips are warm and I’m nearly overwhelmed by the sensation of it. It heats me from the inside out. His kiss is firm, decisive, and I part my lips slightly, allowing my tongue to sample the taste of his bottom lip. He squeezes my hip and presses his mouth harder to mine. I reciprocate in kind and suck gently. He pulls back, inhaling deeply through his nose.

“I wish I hadn’t waited so long.” He mutters, framing my face with his warm hands. I reach up to hold his wrists and give him a smirk of my own. He bites his lip and avoids my eye, stepping away from me. He gently pulls his wrists from my grasp and leans down to scoop up the ball that has been deposited at our feet. He whistles to get Jaspar and Vader’s attention, showing them the ball and moving it from left to right. Their eyes remained trained on their hearts desire: the ball. I keep my eyes firmly on Reggie. Eventually he throws the ball into the bushes and our dogs speed away.

“Hey,” I say, demanding with my voice that he look at me again. I reach down for his hand and press it firmly to my cheek, nuzzling it. His thumb strokes my temple and I melt into him. “What’s up?” I ask, forcing my half-lidded eyes to open. Reggie sighs, letting his eyes fall shut as he touches his forehead to mine.

And then Jaspar hits me in the back of the knees with his front paws, nearly sending me falling. Reggie’s quick reflexes allow him to let go of my face and grip my waist instead. Once I’m steady on my feet, Reggie releases his grip on me and growls. He scoops up the ball, throwing it aggressively back to the bushes. His hands come up to grip his hair.

“We’re moving to Texas at the end of the year.” He’s yelling it to the park, pacing like a caged tiger. He sighs and lets his hands fall to his sides. “I’m moving after school is out. My aunt isn’t doing well and she needs full-time care. It’s such a fucking mess.” He kicks a rock and Jaspar turns to investigate while Vader drops the ball at Reggie’s feet. He kicks the ball, too and the dogs run off again.

“I’m sorry,” I say, because I don’t know what Reggie needs to hear right now. “I know you worked really hard for your captaincy, but Texas has amazing football programs. Even if you don’t make captain at least you’ll be playing with people who share your passion for it!” Reggie’s expression is aghast and I force myself to stop babbling.

“It’s just…” Reggie squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and focuses them on me with the intensity I’ve only ever seen him exhibit on the football field.

“I… Vader doesn’t want to go, not now that he has Jaspar to hang out with. It feels like he and Jaspar really have something special together. Vader’s not ready for it to be over. He doesn’t want their time together to be nothing because to Vader, it’s been everything.”

“Reginald,” I start, swallowing thickly. “Your inability to confront your own emotions can be a real dick punch, you know that?” Reggie shouts a laugh and presses his fist to his mouth in surprise. To avoid looking at him, I throw the ball and imagine my fear going with it.

“I can’t believe you just used the words dick punch in a sentence.”

“Well you’re a terrible influence. Jesus Reginald, this was never nothing. It’s been everything to me, too. And if I learned anything from this year, it’s that caring about stuff can be painful, but it’s so worth it. So maybe you disagree, but I want you for as much time as we have left, nothing held back. You, me, and our best friends.” Jaspar has decided that he does not want to drop the ball, but Reggie is working to coax it out. It is covered in dog slime, and Reggie has to wipe his hands on his jeans after he’s thrown it.

“Okay. Let’s do it then. Me, you, and our best friends. For as long as we’ve got.” And he kisses me again, once, twice, three times and then one lingering kiss with enough force to shatter a fragile heart. When the heartbreak hits, I know it will be worth it.

Taglist: @tasteofswallowedwords @forsythe-pendleton-jones-iv

[itsclydebitches]

Summary:

Just days after Balem returned to his adult self, Jupiter is thrown head-first into another adventure - one she, frankly, really doesn’t have the energy for. But when has the universe ever taken her desires into account? Mysteries, promises, and desperate moves forward; bees, splices, and awkward family dinners. It’s enough to make even her seasoned head spin.

…which doesn’t even include the chance to play at ‘Mother’ once more. Only question is: will Jupiter take it?

(DIRECT SEQUEL TO “ROCK THE CRADLE”)

Fandom: Jupiter Ascending

Words: 16,756 so far

Warnings: Will eventually mention previous neglect/abuse of children

Pairings: Jupiter/Caine

Where to Read it: Below the cut or on AO3 (AO3 recommended for formatting) 

Chapter Nine 

“C’mere,” Jupiter said and like always Caine came.

She nearly snorted at her own inappropriate thoughts—and the puns at the core of them—but Jupiter wasn’t sure she wanted to interrupt whatever mood was developing with a twelve-year-old’s humor. It was like Guano’s exit had flipped a switch for the both of them. Caine’s expression smoothed out, Jupiter’s shoulders relaxed, and suddenly the hot bathroom seemed a whole lot more steamy.

Jupiter grinned. Goddamn the puns.

She crooked her finger, dripping water onto the floor, and pushed the shower curtain all the way back, only pausing to check that she wouldn’t actually flood the bathroom floor. Caine placed the large, white box on the toilet seat and tiptoed around the remains of Guano’s mess.

“What’s that?” Jupiter whispered.

Caine still had his fingers resting on the cardboard. His eyes were on her. “A dress. It’s from Kalique.”

“...are you fucking kidding me?”

Jupiter crammed her face back between her knees and in doing so missed Caine’s expression—but she definitely caught the chuckle. It was a rare thing and she cherished it, but she’d like that just once it came without such a worrying and ridiculous situation. Jupiter peeked out to see him toeing off his boots, his shirt, his jeans.

“It appeared on the front porch,” he said. Caine’s voice was quiet and a little echo-y. “She must have transported it down after Guano arrived, before leaving Earth’s atmosphere. Her ship is long gone.”

Jupiter’s mouth twisted. “Of course it is. Well, is it pretty?”

“Exquisite. I think she’s commenting on the last dinner’s attire, Your Majesty.”

“I really don’t care what Kalique thinks of my wardrobe. What about you? You prefer me in the jeans or the ball gown?”

“You... know what I prefer.”

Caine was naked now, as unabashed by it as Jupiter was, though the lines of his body still held a hesitance about being naked before her. Clothes gone he’d immediately knelt on the bath rug before, head slightly inclined, and Jupiter took a moment to just admire him. She’d heard stories over the last year, about what a lycantant was supposed to look like: tall as Guano, broader in the shoulders, legs like small tree trunks and a chest that could take on a missile. Jupiter couldn’t really imagine it, not when she had this little piece of perfection right in front of her, but she’d been told again and again that she could have more. Should want more, especially as an Abrasax.

Screw that. Jupiter was quite happy, thank you very much, and she liked to believe that she had a decent enough heart that she would have loved Caine even if he was scrawny by human standards.

Not that he was—holy hell no—and the sparse chest hair he seemed so embarrassed by was the perfect patch for Jupiter to run her hands through, his ‘small’ shoulders exactly what she wanted to lean against. There’d been a bit of a confidence boost when he’d gotten his wings back, and not for the first time Jupiter wondered if she shouldn’t have encouraged him to keep them on more. Sadly those appendages weren’t as easy to hide as pointed ears. There was only so many times Caine could get away with a bulky jacket in this heat. He’d claimed with his usual, stumbling sincerity that he’d rather just be with her. If disconnecting his wings was the ‘price’ of that, then so be it.

Stinger kept them in the back of the house with the rest of the weaponry. Jupiter couldn’t help but think of a trophy from days long gone by, mounted on a wall somewhere. It made her feel guilty. But that made her feel guilty too, because it wasn’t like Caine needed them. He was here, and gorgeous, and—

—and everything she wanted.

Caine was the runt of his litter. Didn’t they say only the best for an Abrasax? So hell yeah. Jupiter got the special one. The freaking collector’s edition. Only one in existence, folks! read it and weep.

“Your Majesty?”

“…Caine,” she chastised.

He ducked his head. “Jupiter.”

“Atta boy. Here, there’s plenty of room.”

He didn’t need to be told twice (Caine never did) and he stood immediately, stepping into the bath with all the grace of an automaton. Jupiter swiveled so her legs were under the spray of the shower and pulled Caine down against her, guiding him between her back and the tub’s high wall. He settled there like a well-placed puzzle piece and Jupiter tilted her head back onto his shoulder.

They sat for a moment, breathing in synch. Caine lifted a hand to delicately brush a strand of hair from Jupiter’s forehead. He reached for the shampoo.

“You don’t have to,” she murmured.

Caine nuzzled the back of her ear. “I want to. Touching you is a gift.”

“Well jeez when you put it that way.”

Jupiter had closed her eyes and pretended, just for a moment, that they were a normal couple with normal problems to solve. She supposed, in a sense, that they were all pretty normal... just with extraordinary twists. Everyone had awful relatives to deal with—they just didn’t have to put up with the ancient children of their recurrences, hell bent on killing, tormenting, or otherwise extorting you. Every guy, gal, and pal worried about bringing partners home to the parents—it’s just that their ‘bad boys’ didn’t include alien biology and technology that put the iPhone to shame. Still, it was reassuring in its way. Jupiter was attempting to rationalize it all... and then Caine’s fingers were in her hair and that became so much easier.

Drama? What drama? Life was fantastic right now.

“You’re good at this,” she slurred, slipping a little further down as Caine kneaded her head and neck. Jupiter could feel lines of shampoo slipping down her face, small handfuls of water quickly arriving to catch them. She was warm, and content, and might have actually been sleepy if she couldn’t feel Caine’s interest pressing against her back.

Jupiter grinned and arched, grinding him a bit and shamelessly calling attention to her breasts. She just caught Caine’s barely audible grunt, his hands spasming against her and slipping down to her chest, the shampoo making the motion both easy and playful.

“You’re exquisite like this,” Caine murmured, doing his best to lavish her neck with kisses between the words. His fingers teased around her nipples, tweaking one hard so Jupiter gasped. It was more the emotion than the sensation though. No one had ever called her exquisite before.

Jupiter rocked in Caine’s lap, turning just enough so he could see her smile. “You mean decked out in another man’s beauty products, in his bathroom no less?”

“Your Majesty,” Caine growled.

“It’s ‘Jupiter.’”

“It’s ‘Jupiter’ when Her Majesty stops being such a smartass.”

Jupiter barked out a laugh, the sound quickly morphing into a groan as Caine skimmed her stomach and lower thighs. She caught his hand at the last moment and held it under the spray, rinsing away the shampoo before guiding him back to the curls between her legs. Caine was emitting a low, continuous growl now—almost like a purr—and inhaling deep every few moments, as if he couldn’t get enough of her scent. He locked his left arm around her chest and slid two fingers in up to his knuckles, letting the water and Jupiter’s wetness do the work. She could feel how hard Caine’s cock was against her and Jupiter wanted to do something about that, but she was a little preoccupied with arching up.

“That’s good, you’re good,” she whispered, cutting off with another groan as Caine picked up the pace. He eased out enough rub at her clit and Jupiter hissed, mewling and scrambling at Caine’s thighs, digging her fingers into the flesh there. She wondered if she was strong enough to leave bruises. If he’d mind. Jupiter’s legs tensed, bent, tried to find purchase and she wondered why he wasn’t doing more.

“Caine, Caine move…”

It was an indistinct order, but Caine took it in the best way possible. Quicker than Jupiter could follow—quicker than a human certainly—he’d lifted her and reversed their positions, laying Jupiter fast but gently down the length of the tub. Her head just cleared the shower’s spray, the water pounding down over chest and splattering against her cheeks. Jupiter gasped, catching some of the water and sucking it from her lips. Caine paused only long enough to grind down a kiss of his own before scooting back, splaying his legs on either side of Jupiter’s, bunched up against the end of the tub. She was thinking that this couldn’t be a comfortable position when he ducked down and sealed his mouth where his hand had been.

“Oh fuck—”

Never let it be said Caine wasn’t a quick learner, or creative when given half an incentive to be. He devoted himself to drowning in her with the same single-minded focus he gave to her protection; licking, nipping, nuzzling with abandon, as messy and feral as his genes supposedly dictated. Jupiter gave up on decorum, keening and digging her hands into Caine’s wet hair. She found purchase on the tub’s end and when Caine slipped two fingers back inside Jupiter clenched and began to thrust. Everything was happening at once—curled fingers and lips and teeth and the water hitting Jupiter’s breasts—and Caine was moaning like she was doing all the work. It was his own little whimper of pleasure that finally did it, Jupiter coming with a gasp and shaking legs.

She rode it out, Caine licking in long, gentle strokes all the while. Jupiter eventually had to tug on his hair to get him to stop.

He sat back on his heels. Jupiter pushed the hair from her eyes and caught his gaze.

“Okay,” she breathed. “That was good.”

It was like watching a puppy get praised: exuberant enthusiasm no matter how many times it happened. Except, of course, that the puppy was a massive hulk of a man with a cock bobbing between his legs and really, one of these days Caine was going to let her take care of him first.

Except that she saw the utter contentment on his face and wondered if he’d really let her win that fight.

“Look at you,” Jupiter teased. She sat up, a little shaky still, grabbing ahold of Caine’s legs just to steady herself, but the touch sent a shiver through his body that Jupiter felt all the way up to her shoulders. They’d done this before too and Jupiter knew Caine as well as he knew her. She could, as they say, play the game too.

“Stand,” she said, and Caine stood. “Hold still,” she said and Jupiter took him into her mouth, wrapping her hand around his base as Caine’s hips jerked minutely, a pained whine mixing with the sounds of the water. He didn’t thrust though, even if Jupiter could feel his muscles twitching in desperation. She wanted to grin—settled for a coy look up at him instead—and fluttered her tongue, tracing his underside and suctioning her lips as Caine grunted in response.

He was always so quiet when they did this; only the tinniest sounds emerging that never escaped the bubble they created together. One day Jupiter was going to unwind that tension all the way. Really make him scream...

Just, you know, not while they were in Stinger’s house.

Jupiter hummed a laugh and Caine gasped, his hands scrambling against the slick wall.

Their hosts could suffer a little though. All at once Jupiter took him as deep as she could without gagging, reaching up to grab Caine’s ass and finally let him move. He made an inarticulate sound that tightened Jupiter’s body, desperate and just this side of animalistic—completely and utterly wrecked. She swallowed in response.

“Jupiter, Jupiter, Jupiter, Jupiter—”

Caine’s body went rigid, only training keeping him from becoming a puddle on the floor. As Jupiter eased off he collapsed onto the tub’s edge instead, panting slightly and gazing at her with undisguised affection. Jupiter spit into the drain and finally grinned, rubbing the back of her hand across her mouth.

“So,” she said. “How about me in that dress?”

Caine closed his eyes, muttering something about Abrasaxs being the death of him, and Jupiter choked on a laugh.

***

Sex was good. In all fairness though, this was possibly better.

“See, that’s just rude.” Kiza shook a wet towel at her before tossing it into the hamper, kicking clothes and books out of her way. “You drag us into this dinner, mess up the bathroom, and then have the nerve to look stupidly gorgeous in my shit bedroom? Nuh-uh. This is going to cause problems between us, Your Majesty. Mark my words.”

“I’m not gorgeous,” Jupiter said automatically. Except...

Kiza side-eyed her, sensing the hesitation. “You’re a freaking masterpiece. Don’t fight me on this.”

Jupiter stood in the middle of Kiza’s (admittedly messy) bedroom, the house’s one full-length mirror propped up against the bed. She kept staring into it, her mind not quite computing that it was her own reflection there, because really, when was the last time she’d worn something like this? It put Kalique’s original dress for her to shame. It had sophistication that Titus’ kink monstrosity couldn’t hold a candle to. Jupiter ran her hand lightly over the high, bunched neckline; the sheer, flowered material that barely covered her chest; a satin bow; light, flowing skirts that fed from plum coloring into blue... she felt a little dizzy. The material clearly wasn’t anything made on Earth and Jupiter wondered if you could somehow drug a dress.

Even her lack of makeup and wet hair pulled back haphazardly couldn’t detract from the overall look. She really was… beautiful.

Jupiter blinked slowly as Kiza snapped a picture. “I sort of hate how great this dress is,” she admitted.

“Right? That’s some Kalique insanity right there: how many dresses before you forgive the war crimes? I don’t know about you, but I am weak for clothes.” Kiza spread her arms. “Which begs the question: what am I supposed to wear?”

“Something that holds your weaponry,” Stinger said. He appeared in the doorway, Guano popping up behind him with a gleeful expression and a strange gesture that Jupiter couldn’t quite decipher. It seemed positive though.

Stinger just gave on a clipped nod. “You look nice, Your Majesty.”

“Lame, Dad, she looks amazing.”

“Yes, at the behest of her Lady Kalique. I don’t like it, Kiza.” Stinger paused. “No offense.”

Jupiter sighed. “None taken.”

They were right after all. This wasn’t dress up or prom. Kalique was up to something and Jupiter had every intention of finding out what. She shook the cobwebs from her mind, slipping on her heels and striding out the door. Down the steps, back into the kitchen. The bees converged around Jupiter, brushing her body like she was their flower, offering soft and soothing reassurance. She could hear Guano, Stinger, and Kiza still arguing upstairs. Caine was somewhere in the back, choosing his weapon with care. Jupiter stood looking like a queen in the middle of their living room, devoted followers all around her... and she’d never felt more like an ordinary girl.

A knock sounded at the door. Amongst everything, T’sing’s face was a welcome sight.

“Look at you,” she whistled. T’sing stepped back onto the porch and bowed dramatically, bringing the Ageis hovering over the fields into view.

“It’s good to see you, Your Majesty. Please, your carriage awaits.”

[nodeleteky-blog]

mercy killing

I work in a child care centre. I’m not bad at my job - I get along well enough with kids and I have my mother’s yelling voice, which helps with behaviour management (that’s a fancy educating word for stopping kids from lighting fires).

A couple of terms ago we were in the middle of vacation care, which is different to regular term-time care because instead of dealing with children before and after school (when they’re at their best - either sleepy or just stoked to not be learning), you’re dealing with them for 8 hours at a time.  A lot can go wrong in 8 hours. 

Every school holidays we have a bunch of chicken eggs delivered by a company called Henny Penny Hatching (a name shared with Henny Penny Foods, a Novocastrian fast food chain suspiciously specialising in fried chicken). At the end of the school break, they’re taken away to ‘live’ (die) at a ‘farm’ (slaughterhouse). The idea is the kids get watch the chicks hatch and then take care of them. This is a misguided attempt to teach them about caring for baby animals, the circle of life and value for living things. I say misguided because:

1) a child is not qualified to care for anything more evolved than a sea monkey (even then I would say that’s an ethical grey area),

2) the circle of life is a vicious, unpleasant circle to be involved with,

3) we ate sausages for lunch that day. Living things are priceless, dead things are $3.80/kg. By the third day of the holidays, all of the chicks had hatched but one. One lonely egg, sitting in the incubator like a drunk on the train that slept through his stop. My coworkers and I assumed that this egg was a dud, but by the afternoon it was showing signs of life. The chick was making his way into this cruel world, one peck of his underdeveloped beak at a time. As the miracle of birth was occurring I gathered the children around the incubator, hoping there would be something vaguely inspirational or educational about watching one of nature’s dumbest creatures leave a room with no door. As time went on, it became increasingly apparent that this bird was not naturally gifted at being born. He managed to peck a small hole in the shell, from which logic (and millions of years of evolution) would dictate his head would emerge. Instead he managed to summon the incompetence to thrust his backside through the opening, widening it with his scrawny chicken feet as he went. 

There was something oddly prophetic about coming into the world butt first: this chicken was falling into something he wasn’t quite equipped or prepared for, even by the standards of baby chickens.

Eventually the chick (whom the children had named ‘Plucky’, either for his courage in the face of adversity or because they knew plucking was something that happened to chickens) managed to struggle his (or her, it’s really hard to tell with birds) abdomen out through the hole, leaving the eggshell stuck on his head like a space helmet. On reflection, this bird was in a very peculiar situation: having just become self-aware, he knew he must break free of the only home he had ever known. Having barely achieved this feat, he thrusts his posterior into the unknown. Then, just when he had earned his freedom - his head was left trapped in the sanctuary that had now become his prison. Can you imagine what would have been running through that chicken’s head? Based on my knowledge of chickens, probably not a whole lot (even the fully grown ones don’t use their brains for much: take for instance that headless chicken that survived for 3 years post-decapitation). But if I’m going somewhere new, I want my head to lead the way. It has the greatest hits of sensory organs - nose, ears, tongue, eyes. All the classics you know and love. If someone offered me a free trip to Portugal, but the offer was only good from the neck down - I would have serious reservations about accepting that offer.

It was at this point the children urged me to intervene. I did feel compelled to act: I had invited them all to witness a new life being ushered into our world, after all. If I had to put my thumb on the scale, so be it.

So I reached into the incubator and grabbed Plucky by his not-yet-fluffy bottom and gently broke the shell-noose away from around his neck. 

It became very clear from that moment that Plucky was not a blue ribbon chick. His head looked too small for his body, like a raisin with a beak. Even so, his neck still seemed unable to support its weight. It rolled listlessly, like a flaccid penis in the afternoon breeze. Despite spending the longest in the proverbial oven, he still looked underdone. Plucky just... wasn’t right.

Thinking he might still just be recovering from his hatching ordeal, I placed him in the pen, under the lightbulb amongst the sawdust and chickenshit. Almost immediately, his siblings approached him for what I assumed would be a fraternal greeting and a congratulatory flap - instead they started to peck aggressively at his eyes. An age old hierarchy had just been established: having been the last to arrive, Plucky had become the designated runt. There is no such thing as being ‘fashionably late’ in the animal kingdom. 

I had now reached an impasse - do I let nature take its gruesome course and allow Plucky to be pecked to death by his kin, in front of a live studio audience of impressionable children? Or do I become God himself - intervening in matters of life and death, disrupting the natural order to preserve the innocence of my young charges? I decided that since I had already violated Star Fleet’s Prime Directive by helping Plucky out of his shell, I had better remove him from the situation until he had his bearings. I placed him in a small box under another heat lamp, safely nestled in more sawdust.

Isolation did not help Plucky’s cause. His breathing was shallow and laboured, like a phone call with my dad. He couldn’t move, though maybe he just didn’t see the point. It became clear that Plucky was dying.

Looking back now, I had no obligation to do anything other than let nature take its course. Children all must learn about death and loss, sooner or later (honestly, they should probably learn about it before their first McNugget). But in a misguided attempt to spare them the emotional torment of watching the slow death of a chick they’d grown inexplicably attached to, I decided to do something I never thought I’d have to. I was going to kill Plucky.

I’ll spare you the details, but I will say I am burdened to this day with the guilt of cold blooded (if well intentioned) murder. When I returned the next morning, I found the incubator was lined by at least a dozen homemade signs, clearly drawn by the naive hands of children. I picked one up - it read:

‘RIP PLUCKY

TOM NEXT’